Scenes from a Marriage
by VoyICJ
Summary: Charles and Elsie try to adapt to retirement and marriage
1. Chapter 1

This idea/ story has been written before and it has been written well. 713's wonderful _Doors_ comes to mind, as does AussieGirl41's legendary _Cottageverse. _Kouw's lovely _Umpire_ should be mentioned as well and only recently partiallyyours started her fantastic story _Getting used to it_. If you haven't read either of these stories, you should do so. They are gems. I'm sure there are countless others that I've forgotten but loved no less than the ones I've mentioned.

Still, I wanted to try my hand at the idea of Charles and Elsie's retirement as well and hope I've found a somewhat new approach. I'm rather excited about my first multi-chapter fic for this wonderful fandom.

My most sincere thanks goes once again to **Kouw **who provided valuable feedback and improvements. She spent a week beta-ing what I had already written while I was vacationing in Ireland. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

**Scenes from a Marriage**

Elsie Carson looked out of her little kitchen window, sighing deeply as she surveyed the pitiful state of her back garden. She had had such high hopes for the little patch of green behind the cottage – before she had realized that she despised working outdoors. She should have known she would. She had never been very enthusiastic about helping at her parents' farm but she had naively imagined that it would be different once it was her own piece of land. Once her survival didn't depend on the success of the harvest.

But after a few half-heartedly planted flower beds and the realization that weed was something you were never likely to get rid of in its entirety, her enthusiasm had waned. She still took care of it from time to time (God knew Charles wouldn't roll up his sleeves to dig through the dirt) but the garden remained a farcry from what she had envisioned.

Just like retirement had remained a farcry from her glorious fantasies.

It had happened hastily, painfully and in an altogether undignified manner.

Considering the facts objectively she knew that she couldn't really blame the family; in current economic times their hands had been tied. She had seen the shimmer of tears in Lady Mary's eyes when she had told her staunchest supporter that the estate could no longer employ a staff that consisted of a butler and an under-butler. She hadn't asked him to retire, had left the sentence hanging but it was clear what she expected him to do.

So he had stepped down, had cleared the field for a younger man. To add insult to injury this younger man was no one else but Mr. Barrow. It had hurt him, she had seen it.

Maybe that was why when they had reconvened in her sitting room later that night after the announcements had been made, she had mentioned the possibility of retiring with him. In her more self-aware moments she realized that she had practically asked him to marry her.

He had only briefly been shocked by her proposal before exclaiming that it seemed like a sensible idea for her to join him in retirement. Less and less houses in Britain still employed housekeepers. A head-housemaid and an additional maid – both cheaper and ideally no long-term employments – could do the job just as well.

Sensible. How she hated the word. Had hated it then and hated it now. There was nothing sensible about her feelings. She still had her job two months ago. What she did not have at that point was the reassurance that he would manage on his own, without the family, without tradition to uphold.

But he had managed retirement well. Much better than she or anyone else could have predicted. Much better than she had managed.

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><p>She was still in the kitchen when he returned from that day's excursion into the village. She was putting the final touches to their dinner. Stew. Again.<p>

While she wasn't a bad cook per se, she lacked the creativeness and inventiveness Beryl Patmore showed in her cooking. She didn't like to experiment with different ingredients and flavours, mainly because two of her attempts at doing so had hastily been discarded into the garbage can before Charles had had the chance to notices what an inedible mess she had created. Mrs. Patmore's time for instruction was limited, so Elsie mainly stuck to those dishes she was comfortable with – stew being one of them.

She picked up the serving dish and headed towards the small room in the back, which they had converted into a dining room – only to find him redoing the way she had set the table. She grabbed the bowl tighter in annoyance. She didn't think he actually noticed what he was doing. Setting a table properly had been part of him for so long that he didn't think twice about correcting something he considered to be done wrongly. Still, it left her with this nagging feeling of inadequateness, of being assessed and found wanting.

She put down the stew with more force than strictly necessary, nearly spilling it. Her behaviour earned her a set of raised eyebrows, which quickly returned to their original position upon observing the look of displeasure on her face.

"Is anything wrong?" he asked tentatively, never quite sure what he may have done wrong, how to read the woman that was now sharing his life.

"No, I was just a little clumsy, that's all," she replied, taking a deep breath to control her temper.

They ate their meal in silence before he spoke up again. "This is really good, thank you."

A feeling of warmth spread through her and she felt guilty about having been annoyed with him earlier. He really was the most complacent man. So far he hadn't complained about her unvaried meal plan, had always eaten everything she had cooked and had always made sure to thank her for preparing the meal. He probably didn't feel the need to protest because the only other dish Elsie Carson felt comfortable with was apple tart (No one, especially not him, needed to know just how many attempts it had taken her to create the perfect crust. How many cries of frustration the kitchen walls had had to swallow. But he loved apple tart and therefor she had kept at it, not stopping until it had been absolutely perfect).

"How was your day?" she inquired softly.

"Quite well, thank you. I'm still surprised how many people value my opinion." He seemed truly baffled by how many local merchants had come to ask for his expertise. It didn't surprise her; she knew how helpful and capable he was. What surprised her though, was the easiness with which Charles Carson had transcended into a life of leisure, while she had so much trouble with it.

She was just about to reply when he suddenly put his cutlery down.

"That reminds me, I've got you something. Mr. Williams had it in his store and he praised it so warmly and all the women in the shop agreed so I thought you should try it as well." He knew he was rambling but he couldn't help himself. He suddenly felt rather nervous about his purchase. He quickly walked to the entrance where he had put the large carton and then returned with it, carefully placing it in her lap. She looked at the parcel and back to him in confusion before carefully opening it. He sat back down and watched her in eager anticipation of her reaction.

"What is it?" she asked, examining the appliance in her hand.

"It's an electric hairdryer. I know how much time it takes you to get your long hair to dry and I thought this might make it easier for you. Mr. Williams said that it unfortunately is a little heavy and you need to pay attention to avoid overheating but it should save you a lot of time." He felt insecure, once again not able to read her strange reaction to his gift. She stared at the hairdryer with an indescribable look on her face, her hands were grabbing it so tightly her knuckles turned white, her bottom lip was furiously being bitten upon.

"I can take it back if you don't like it. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It was meant to help. I'm sorry." He should have known better. A woman like Elsie Hughes didn't appreciate such unwarranted gestures. She could take care of herself and he'd do well to remember that. He lowered his head in contrition. He heard her put the hairdryer on the table before she pushed her chair back and got up. His shoulders slumped a little.

It came as a surprise when he suddenly felt her hand cup his cheek. He looked up and was met with her tearful eyes.

"This is the most thoughtful gift. Thank you," she whispered softly before pressing an almost reverent kiss to his cheek. He was captivated by her. He put his hand against hers on his cheek and gave it the gentlest squeeze.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when she finally pulled back and smirked down on him.

"You do realize that you have wilfully brought a modern electrical appliance into this house, don't you?" she teased.

He sat up straighter in his chair, his eyes twinkling merrily. "A wise woman once told me that it was time to live a little. I'm simply following her orders."

Her delighted laughter rang through the cottage.

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><p>So that was the first chapter. As always, reviews are <span>very<span> much appreciated. You cannot know how much they mean to me. The next five chapters are written and beta-ed and should be up soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Just a very short update today, but I thought it was a lovely little scene and it does offer Charles' perspective for the first time.

I can't thank all of you enough for the reviews and follows and reblogs on tumblr. You truly made my day yesterday! I hope I've replied to all your reviews and I'd like to thank the guest reviewers to whom I can't respond directly.

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><p>He studied her covertly from behind his newspaper. To any outward observer she'd appear the epitome of calmness as she sat there on her settee in their living room embroidering a cushion. He wasn't just anyone, though. From the way she tugged the thread through the fabric with just a little too much force to the way her eyebrows were drawn together just a little too closely, he was able to tell that she was displeased about something. She suddenly began muttering angrily under her breath and he had to hide his amused smile by putting the newspaper further up in front of his face. He wondered whether she was aware of her delightful habit of muttering in the face of frustration.<p>

He was worried about her. She didn't seem to adapt to retirement half as well as he had expected. She was at times both listless and fidgety. Their little cottage was by far the cleanest place in all of Britain. She thoroughly cleaned it at least once a week (most of the time twice or more). Their windows were so spotless that the constantly feared birds would crash into them because they didn't see them. He'd have absolutely no qualms about letting even young Mr. George eat from their kitchen floor because it was cleaner than most tables he knew.

His heart clenched almost painfully when he considered the implications behind her displeasure with retirement. Their marriage was far from the comfortable arrangement he had expected. They suddenly had difficulties stringing up a conversation. While they were still working together, they had had no problems to talk for hours. Often he had been disappointed to have to put a stop to it because otherwise they would have gotten no sleep. Now, though, they could hardly find a common topic, she sometimes seemed downright uncomfortable with being close to him – even if it was simply sitting together. God knew there wasn't any aspect of physical closeness in their marriage.

He had once prided himself in knowing her well; being able to read her every mood but now he was often left wondering what she was thinking, feeling.

He tried to give her some freedom, was pleasantly surprised by how much joy he derived from being active in the community. He knew that he was hardly home but he had the strong suspicion that she preferred it that way. She certainly hadn't complained about his frequent absence from their cottage.

"Ouch!" He looked up when he heard her exclamation of pain and saw her sucking on her right index finger.

"What happened?" he asked, putting the newspaper onto the side table next to his chair.

"Nothing, I just pricked my finger. I'm sorry for disturbing you."

"Nonsense, here let me see." He leant forward.

"It really is nothing, I just…," she stopped talking when he gently took her right hand and cradled it between his two larger hands, closely inspecting her finger. A tiny drop of blood formed on the injured digit. He quickly pulled out his handkerchief and wrapped it tenderly around the tiny wound. When he looked up again, he found her studying him intently. He didn't break eye-contact as he brought her hand up to his lips and pressed a light kiss to it.

"Better?" he rumbled softly. She nodded mutely, not trusting her brain to form a coherent sentence in this situation. He squeezed her hand gently before letting it go again.

"I'll have a quick wash before bed. I need to leave early tomorrow morning and I don't want to wake you when I boil the water." Again she could only nod.

When he had left the living room, she cradled her injured hand close, closing her eyes as she remembered the feeling of his lips on her finger.

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><p>And here comes the usual begging for reviews: Please, please, please consider leaving one. I like to hear what you think!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you all sooooo much for your lovely reviews and the following and the reblogs and everything else. I was not exaggerating when I told you how much they mean to me! It is really lovely to hear from all of you! Thanks again to the anonymous reviewers whom I can't thank personally!

Thanks once again to Kouw for pointing out the odd lines, the missed verbs and everything else you do!

Well, it's time for some Hughes/ Patmore me thinks…

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><p>Beryl Patmore studied Elsie Carson closely. Her friend was absentmindedly stirring the broth that Downton's cook had just taught her to make. She looked forlorn as she stood there.<p>

"Alright, stop stirring. The broth has to cook for another thirty minutes. I suggest you and I go into your sitting room and enjoy a cup of tea," the cook exclaimed resolutely, removing her apron.

"You seem to forget that I don't have a sitting room here anymore," Elsie smiled mildly.

Beryl was relieved to see Anna make her way through the staff hallway. "Oh Mrs. Bates," she called out and Anna instantly turned towards the kitchen.

"Mrs. Hughes! Oh, I'm sorry, old habits die hard I suppose. Mrs. Carson, it's lovely to see you." Anna greeted her former superior happily and Elsie returned the greeting with an affectionate smile.

"I was wondering whether we'd be able to use the sitting room for a short break."

"Of course, I'm busy overseeing the packing for Lady Mary's trip to London next week, so I won't interrupt you." Anna smiled brightly at the two older women before making her way to the staircase. Mrs. Patmore accepted the tea tray from one of her kitchen maids and ushered Elsie Carson into her former sitting room.

After the retirement of the housekeeper Anna and the head-housemaid had started to divide up their former superior's household jobs. By silent decree the staff had decided that Anna should get to use the downstairs' sitting room.

Elsie took a close look around her former refuge. She smiled softly as she took in the decorations Anna had put up. She stopped briefly in front of the Bates' wedding picture before turning towards Mrs. Patmore.

"I don't suppose there has been any sign of… ," she left the sentence lingering. Beryl softly shook her head. "No, not yet… but I hope it won't be long now."

Elsie nodded and then sat down opposite of her friend.

"And now to you," Beryl said after she had handed Elsie her cup of tea.

"What about me?" Elsie asked in confusion.

"Oh don't play coy with me. Something is wrong and I'd like to know what it is," Beryl fixed the other woman with a firm glare.

Elsie briefly considered lying, but in truth she felt the need to unburden to someone.

"It's silly, really," she began haltingly. "I just feel so… lost sometimes. I suppose this might seem very ungrateful to you but retirement is nothing like I imagined it to be."

Beryl Patmore got up without a word and Elsie Carson looked at her in confusion.

"I think this conversation calls for something a little stronger than tea," the cook stated simply.

"Mrs. Patmore, you're working!"

"Oh please, I've taught my maids and Daisy so well that it wouldn't matter whether I'd be passed out in the storecupboard. They'd still be able to finish dinner in time." She was nearly out of the door when she turned around again. "Don't tell them I said that!"

Elsie chuckled softly as she waited for her friend to return. She didn't have to wait long before her tea cup was filled half with tea and half with brandy. She wasn't sure she wanted to know where Mrs. Patmore had managed to get the spirit in the short amount of time.

"Alright, now, why is retirement not like you imagined it to be?" Beryl smiled encouragingly at her friend.

"I don't know really. I'm not even sure what I expected it to be. I simply find that I have difficulties filling my day meaningfully. There's really only so often you can clean a cottage as small as ours." She vividly remembered Charles' teasing about the frequency with which she cleaned the windows. It had stung terribly.

"What about community work? You did some embroidery for the church bazar, I'm sure there are many charities or local committees that would love to have your expertise at their disposal."

"I know but I can't seem to be able to muster up any enthusiasm for any of these causes."

"What does Mr. Carson say?" Beryl inquired softly, having the strong suspicion that he was the key to Elsie Carson's strange mood.

"Nothing. I haven't spoken to him about any of this. I'm not sure I'm a very good wife," Elsie admitted quietly.

"Why would you say that?" Beryl Patmore was getting more concerned by the second.

"I have no experience about living with a man. You wouldn't believe how many little quirks he has that I hadn't seen coming. He drives me crazy with his pedantic ideas on how I have to set the table. On what the best way would be to organize the cupboards and the washing. I'm not even sure what to say to him most of the time. While we were working there was enough house business to discuss but now… He's hardly home anymore. He is so content with retirement, with all the help he can offer to local businessmen and committees and sometimes I think he'd have preferred it if…," she angrily rubbed her hands over her eyes to dispel the tears there. "I'm sorry Mrs. Patmore, I'm just a little tired. I'm sure it will all work out in the end. I think we should go back and check on how the broth is coming along."

Elsie was just about to leave when Beryl grabbed her hand and forced her to sit down again. "Mrs. Carson, I don't have any experience with being married," she gave a little self-deprecating smile, "but I really think you should talk to your husband."

"And tell him what, Mrs. Patmore?" Elsie asked wearily. "We have a marriage of convenience, not some romantic fantasy. As long as I keep the house clean, put food on the table and don't bite his head off too often, Mr. Carson will be content with the arrangement. I don't think my preposterous feelings of discontent are anything he has to trouble himself with." With those words Elsie Carson got up and left her former sitting room. Mrs. Patmore was left behind, shaking her head sadly.

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><p>I'd love it if you left a review (can't say that too often apparently). I really love to read about your ideas and reactions!<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you all so much for your continued support and reviews! I hope I've managed to reply to all the wonderful reviews :)

Thanks especially and always to Kouw!

Well, many of you asked for someone to talk to Charles – your wish is my command ;)

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><p>Charles Carson surveyed the scene around him, sighing in satisfaction. He tugged at his coat, pleased to feel the fine fabric of his former livery under his fingers. He had been surprised when the family had asked him to oversee the big ball they were hosting in honour of Lady Mary's upcoming nuptials. He hadn't really hesitated before agreeing to help. Seeing Mr. Barrow's annoyed scowl when he had accepted had been an added bonus.<p>

The planning of the event had taken up most of his time in the past two weeks. He had been constantly required to meet with her Ladyship and the Dowager countess. He also had had to arrange the food with Mrs. Patmore and a lot of time had been spent bringing the wine cellar back up to snuff again.

Elsie had accepted his engagement with a benevolent smile but sometimes he had caught her staring off into the distance longingly when he had told her about his day at the Abbey.

She had withdrawn from him even further – if that was possible. He really didn't know what to do anymore. He didn't want to corner her, didn't want to pressure her. They still shared a bed but he always made sure that he only got in when she was already asleep and got up before she was awake. His worst fear was making her more uncomfortable, of driving her away for good. (After all they had never spoken about sharing a bed; had simply not been given any choice by his lordship and his selection of a double bed as a wedding gift for the couple)

"Carson!" Lady Mary's voice broke into his dark musings and his eyes light up as he turned towards the eldest daughter of the house.

"Milady," he greeted formally, only minimally inclining his head.

"Your livery still fits, I see," she teased.

"Indeed it does."

Lady Mary took a look around the Great Hall and smiled delightedly as she took in all the guests that had come in her honour.

"I need to make my rounds now, but please don't leave right away after the ball. I'd like to talk to you before I leave for London."

"Very well, Milady," Charles acquiesced.

The ball could be called nothing else but a complete success. A little after midnight Charles saw the last guests out and then allowed Mr. Barrow to oversee the cleaning process. He made his way to the library to see whether Lady Mary waited for him there. Otherwise he'd bid his Lordship goodnight and make his way back to the cottage.

"I hope you don't mind Carson. I've sent the rest of the family up," Lady Mary greeted him when he entered the library.

"That certainly was not necessary, Milady."

"Carson, you've known me long enough to realize that I'm a decisively selfish person. I'm afraid I wanted the opportunity to have you to myself for a bit." Lady Mary explained. Carson simply nodded, not quite sure how to react to Lady Mary's personal words.

"You know Carson, I'm so glad that you were here tonight. I don't think Barrow would have been up to the task."

"I'm sure he would have been, Milady." Carson deflected the compliment. "His training certainly would have prepared him for the occasion but I must admit that I'm glad that I was allowed to be a part of tonight."

Mary Crawley studied the butler wordlessly for a few moments. "Carson, I hope there are no hard feelings between us because of your retirement," she spoke hesitantly, almost insecurely.

"You did what you had to do for the benefit of the estate, Milady." Charles Carson replied simply.

"For the financial benefit maybe. I'm not sure your retirement will benefit anyone personally, though." Lady Mary suddenly sounded wistful and Charles wanted to dispel the gloomy mood.

"I'm certain Mr. Barrow would disagree with that assessment." His weak attempt at humour was rewarded with a small smile by the eldest Crawley daughter.

"I do not wish for us to part on bad terms," Lady Mary fixed him with her solemn glare.

"I can assure you that there are no bad feelings on my part, Milady. I must admit that it came as a shock and I will also admit that I would have liked to continue in your employment for some more years but it could not be helped and you've made a sensible decision. In the end you had to decide what needed to be done to save the estate for Master George," Carson spoke simply and honestly. He truly had accepted the Crawleys' decision and after a short period of tending to his hurt pride, he had seen that the family had been left with little choice. His unpredicted enjoyment of retirement certainly helped with his acceptance and forgiveness.

"I will accept your explanations as the truth – if only to ease my own conscious." She smiled at him before sitting down on one of the sofas. With her right hand she indicated for Mr. Carson to take a seat opposite of her. He hesitated only briefly before he followed her invitation.

"Now tell me, Carson. How do you find retirement so far?"

"It is certainly busier than I had feared it would be. So far I've rarely had a day of leisure."

"Oh yes, I've spoken to Mr. Reynolds at the church bazar. He mentioned that you have become quite active in Downton's little community."

"Well, I don't like to be idle," Carson replied.

"And how is Mrs. Carson?" Mary Crawley watched with quiet alarm as a troubled look briefly crossed Mr. Carson's face before he schooled his features back into their passive mask.

"She is quite well, Milady. Thank you for asking," he answered quietly.

"That doesn't sound like everything is rose-coloured perfection," Lady Mary interjected gently.

Charles Carson lowered his eyes to his hands. His betrothal to the former Mrs. Hughes wasn't visible on him; no ring adorned his left hand. He deliberated over how to answer Lady Mary's question without hurting his wife's name in the process.

"I'm sorry Carson, that was an inappropriate remark. Please feel free to ignore it," Lady Mary hastened to put him back at ease. When he looked up again, she was smiling at him almost tenderly and he suddenly felt the compelling need to unburden to someone.

"I'm sure you remember that relationships aren't always easy, Milady. Mrs. Carson and I only had a short time to prepare for our wedding and it seems that we are still trying to find a way to live together that allows both of us to take contentment from it."

For Carson to open up to her this much proved to the young Lady how much he trusted her. She took a moment to formulate her reply, wanting it to warrant the faith he had put in her. "I'm sorry to hear that you and Mrs. Carson are having some trouble adapting to married life. My experience of marriage has been limited to a few years," her voice hitched briefly as pictures of Matthew sprang up before her inner eye, "but the advice I would like to give you is to speak openly and honestly to each other."

Carson nodded pensively. Maybe it really was time to stop this tip-toeing around each other.

"I believe you are right, Milady. Thank you," Charles bathed the young woman opposite of him in a warm smile before he got up. "I should head back to the cottage now. I wouldn't want Mrs. Carson to worry." He couldn't be sure whether she would worry about him, whether she was still up, waiting for him but he hoped she did.

"Before you leave Carson, there is a final request I have."

Carson nodded briefly, indicating that he wanted the eldest Crawley daughter to continue speaking.

"Would you consider being here on my wedding day and overseeing the reception?" She looked at him hopefully. Times hadn't changed enough for her to be able to invite the former butler as a wedding guest, but she really wanted, no, needed him to be there at her second wedding. All this information was passed wordlessly between the two adults as they stood facing each other.

"It would be a great honour, Milady." Charles replied softly and he meant it. He was rewarded with the most brilliant smile he had seen adorning Lady Mary's face in a long time.

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><p>Please leave a review if you have a moment. I'd love to hear from you!<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you so much for all your reviews and tumblr love. I'm truly humbled and grateful!

Thanks as always to Kouw – the best beta-reader ever!

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><p>Three days later Charles Carson still hadn't found an opportunity to speak to his wife. She had not waited up for him following Lady Mary's ball and since then he had been either busy with more work for the community or the situation just didn't seem right. He had never been taught how to speak about feelings and problems and… love. It was just not done. This time however, he was convinced that their difficulties couldn't simply be ignored. The only problem was that the possible outcome of such a conversation seemed manifold and unpredictable. He didn't want to hurt her. He didn't want to be hurt.<p>

Charles felt a monstrous headache coming as he ate his breakfast in silence, trying to give the impression that he was reading his newspaper.

"Is everything alright?" His wife's voice interrupted his musings. He looked up to find her eyeing him critically and only then did he notice that he had absentmindedly massaged his left temple to alleviate the tension headache.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you," he replied, giving her a small smile.

She frowned at him even more before she got up from her chair and walked to him with two brisk steps. Before he knew what was happening she had put her hand onto his forehead.

"You feel a little warm," she declared.

He moved his head so that her hand fell away. "I'm fine, really. I simply didn't get enough sleep in the last few nights, that's all."

Elsie knew that he had gotten too little rest in the past days with all the work he was doing for the family and the village. She knew because she had lain awake each and every night until she had heard the tell-tale signs of his arrival at their cottage. Only then had she been able to sleep, reassured that he was well.

"You work too much; you're supposed to be retired!" She commented shortly. He only nodded numbly. "So, where are you off to today?"

"Nowhere, I thought I'd stay home and see how I could help you," he said carefully. Her eyes widened slightly at his revelation but then she lowered her head to look at her buttered toast.

"You should have told me. I promised the women's church group to stop by today about the upcoming fundraiser for the Russian refugees." She had taken Beryl's advice. She supposed she had to start somewhere to find… an occupation for her time.

"I see, well, I'm sure you'll enjoy that." With his last inane comment both fell silent again.

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><p>For the rest of the morning Elsie had pottered about in the small garden in a last attempt to free it from weed. In all honesty it had felt strange with him in the house in the morning and she had looked for a way to escape the oppressive atmosphere. It had almost never happened in the last two months that he was home for such a long stretch of time. She wasn't really sure what he was doing inside but he had promised to look at the creaky bathroom door and the dodgy shelf in the kitchen.<p>

She smiled softly to herself as she thought of him and his ridiculous tool box. He truly was no craftsman but his male pride would forbid him to ask for help with anything that needed to be done inside their little cottage.

When she re-entered their home, she was met with silence. Surely he would have told her if he had gone out. He had probably stumbled upon some book during his work progress and was now reading happily. She made her way upstairs, intent on getting ready for the church meeting. When she entered their bedroom to retrieve her clothing, she stopped short. Her husband lay on their bed, fast asleep, dressed in his work clothes.

She quietly walked over to him and put a gentle hand on his forehead. It was warmer than it had been this morning.

"Charles… Charles, wake up," she shook his shoulder tenderly. After a few more shakes he opened his eyes blearily. When he noticed what had happened, he wanted to get up but her hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"You are not well," she told him simply, leaving no room for discussion. He could only nod in response. "Come on, let's get you comfortable." She put her hand under his arm to help him out of bed. She carefully began to unbutton his shirt but he put his hands on top of hers.

"That's very inappropriate, Mrs. Hughes," he murmured. She looked up in surprise and took in his clouded eyes.

"No, it's not Mr. Carson, you are not well. Let me help you into your pyjamas," she decided to play along with his fever induced dream. He stood perfectly still as she removed his shirt, marvelling at the sight of his broad chest, the coarse grey hair in its middle. Ever since they had married, they had taken great care to undress in the bathroom, away from the other's eyes. She had to swallow hard before she addressed him again. "I'll fetch your pyjamas, you best remove your trousers," her voice was strangely hoarse.

She stepped away from him and quickly walked to the chair in the back of their bedroom on which he always put his sleeping attire in the morning. She pressed the soft material to her chest, closing her eyes for a moment. When she turned around again, he had successfully stepped out of his trousers and looked rather lost as he stood there in his undershorts. She allowed him to lean on her shoulder to steady himself as he stepped into his pyjama pants before she helped him put his arms through the shirt and closing the buttons with nimble fingers.

"There, that's better, isn't it?" she asked softly as she guided him back to bed. He was still looking at her strangely, as if he wasn't really aware of where he was.

She carefully pulled the blanket up around him. "I'll head into the village to see Dr. Clarkson. I'll be back in no time. Try to get some more sleep." Her hand itched to push his signature errant curl from his forehead, but she pulled herself together before she could do anything foolish.

"I love you," he mumbled as he closed his eyes.

His declaration hit her with the force of a hundred lightning bolts. For a short while she forgot to breathe as she battled the unforeseen maelstrom of emotion that his admission unleashed inside her. She listened to his breathing evening out as he fell asleep again. Only then did she regain her ability to move. She gently brushed the wayward curl out of his face with her shaking hand.

"No, you don't Mr. Carson," she whispered, her voice catching in her throat. Her heart broke with the conviction that it had been his fever talking; that he hadn't really been aware that it was her who was in the room with him and not some hallucination of Alice or his mother. She knew that he'd have no recollection of his admission later.

Still, it didn't matter. She had heard the words she had so longed to hear being addressed to her, had heard what his velvety voice sounded like when he uttered those three words. It would be enough for her because it had to be.

She leant forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "I love you, too."

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><p>I know you were all waiting for the talk and I'm truly sorry about keeping you waiting. It will come, I promise. Why don't you tell me how you feel now? Disappointed? Disappointed but somewhat okay with the chapter? Grateful that I make you wait? Happy about the chapter anyway?<p>

Leave a review and let me know ;)


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you Kouw! You're amazing!

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><p>Three days later saw Charles Carson back out of bed and joining his wife for breakfast. In the end his bout of illness had been nothing but a simple, harmless head cold. He had slept a lot and Elsie had coddled him up with the help of her homemade broth. It still brought a smile to his face to remember her delighted beam when he had told her how delicious the soup was.<p>

He had been a bit disconcerted that he couldn't remember how he had ended up in bed the first day but Elsie had assured him that he had been the perfect gentleman. When he had tried to apologize for making her miss the church meeting, she had chided him gently. She had told him not to be ridiculous and Charles Carson was deeply touched by the gentle care she had provided him.

The only thing that still unsettled him was that sometimes when she had sat by his bed, she had looked at him thoughtfully, as if she was waiting for him to say… _something_. He couldn't shake off the feeling that there might have happened more on his first sick day than she let on.

"Do you have any plans for today?" Elsie asked while she looked through her shopping list that rested next to her.

"I was going to head to Ripon to get some repair kit for the shelf in the kitchen. I also need to talk to the wine merchant about the wines for Lady Mary's wedding. I know the wedding is still a few weeks away but it's best to prepared," he rattled off his chores in his most impressive butler's voice. She could barely stop herself from smirking.

"What about you?"

"I need to go the market in Ripon. Mrs. Patmore wants to show me how to make ratatouille. The family dines at Castle Howard tonight and she has a little time on her hands. I thought I could head to the post office and pick up our mail on my way back."

"Perfect. We could go to the market together and then when I go to the wine merchant you could take the bus back to the village and see to your errands there," he suggested, delighted at the prospect of spending the morning with her. When she didn't reply instantly, he felt the need to amend his statement. "Only if you don't mind me coming along to the market, of course."

She had to bite back a smile as she studied his flustered face. "It sounds like a good idea. We could take the 09.42 bus." She made sure that her face didn't show how thrilled she was about something as simple as going to the market with him.

"That's settled then. Do you wish to get ready first?" She nodded, putting the shopping list into her bag before making her way upstairs to get ready. She smiled softly when she saw his pyjamas lying on the chair in their bedroom. Sometime during the first night of his illness she had made a decision. She'd be happy with what she had. Even if her husband didn't love her like she loved him, she'd be content with the affection he showed her. She knew that he cared for her deeply. He'd never hurt her if he could help it. It was time for her to pull herself out of that strange mood she had been in during the last couple of months.

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><p>They strolled through Ripon market at a leisurely pace. He couldn't help walking a bit straighter with her on his arm. It was almost the first time since they had taken their vows that they had walked in public this way. He delighted in the way she told him about her cooking lessons with Mrs. Patmore. He chuckled softly when she admitted her failed attempts at the more daring dishes and reassured her that he probably would have liked them anyway. He listened attentively when she explained the vegetables she needed for tonight's dish and carried her basket when she had filled it with all the ingredients.<p>

On the way to the small pub at the end of the market, in which they had decided to grab a quick lunch, she pointed at a man who was followed by his dog.

"A Cumberland sheepdog, you don't see many of them anymore. My mother had one when I grew up," she explained, a soft smile on her face as she remembered her home. "What a ghastly beast."

"I sincerely hope you are talking about the dog," Charles chuckled and she playfully slapped his chest, instantly blushing at her own bold behaviour.

"It used to chase me around the farm when it was bored. I think it was a game for him but I never quite trusted him," she elaborated. "My mother was a woman of her time, I guess you could say. Not overly sentimental, quite hardened by years of droughts and then floods. But she always took good care of us and offered us what little she had."

Charles gently squeezed her hand that rested in the crook of his elbow. She had never spoken much about her family and he didn't want to interrupt her.

"I think she never forgave me for not marrying Joe and staying in Scotland," Elsie recounted lost in thought. She felt her husband squeeze her hand again and pulled herself out of her memories, giving him an apologetic smile.

"Why didn't you?" he suddenly asked. It had always been a bit of a mystery to him why she had refused the friendly farmer – twice.

"His life wasn't what I wanted my life to be," she answered and it was the truth. There might have been additional factors causing her to decline a second time but she wasn't ready to divulge those. "I would have made him terribly unhappy."

"You could never make anyone unhappy," he replied firmly.

She stopped walking suddenly, causing him to stop as well and look down at her in confusion.

"So I haven't then?" she asked softly.

"Haven't what?"

"I haven't made you unhappy?" She lowered her eyes, unable to look at him as she waited for him to answer. He covered her hand with his again, running his thumb soothingly over the back of her hand.

"No you haven't." He smiled at her when she raised her eyes again and was gratified by the beautiful smile he received in return.

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><p>Who's excited for season 5? I can't wait to find what will happen to our favourite couple! I want to thank all of you for your lovely reviews for the last chapter. I hope I have managed to reply to all of them.<p>

I'd love it if you left another one (I'm told leaving a review makes the time pass faster until season 5 starts ;) Yes, I'm a shameless beggar!)


	7. Chapter 7

What a night yesterday! I hope you enjoyed it. Be rest assured that I won't be discussing the recent episodes here and I encourage my readers to not spoil season 5 for others by commenting on what's happening in their reviews. I am, however, always eager to discuss recent episodes, so drop me a pm if you want to talk :)

Thanks as always to Kouw – whom all of you should thank as well. I would have taken this story in a very dramatic direction if she hadn't stepped in and prevented it. I'm ever so grateful for her advice and the way she always manages to improve this story!

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><p>Elsie hurried home towards their cottage, growling in frustration. Of all the days, her stocking had to rip today, making her even later than she already was. She had spent too long with Charles in Ripon and then Mrs. Charleston at the post office would not stop talking about some inane topic or another. It had taken her a little over forty minutes to finally put a stop to the other woman's logorrhoea without appearing overly rude.<p>

And then she had – and she still wasn't sure how it could have happened – gotten caught in a bramble bush on her way back to the cottage. She didn't really have time to head back to the cottage to change but showing up at the Abbey with torn stockings was unacceptable. She nearly laughed out loud as she imagined what her husband would say to that.

She stormed into their quaint cottage and placed her basket on the little table near the entrance before hurrying upstairs. She didn't even take the time to unpin her hat. She made short work of the torn stockings, unclipping them from her garter and tearing them off. While she usually went to great pains to repair any torn garment, this pair had already been mended a fair few times and she could afford to live a little.

Just as she was in the middle of refastening her second stocking, she heard sounds downstairs. She was surprised to hear her husband entering their cottage and calling out for her. She had certainly expected her husband's errands to take longer.

She hurried downstairs and found him in their living room, looking at her curiously when she entered.

"Elsie, I thought you'd have gone to meet Mrs. Patmore by now?" He smiled at her in amusement but then his eyes were drawn to the torn stockings in her hands.

"Ah yes… I'm afraid I'm running dreadfully late. Mrs. Charleston would not stop complaining about the new director system the Post office has planned. I almost couldn't make it out of the office and then I ripped my stockings and had to change" Elsie gave a nervous laugh, unsettled by the strange look on his face as his eyes kept returning to the garment in her hand.

"Well, then you'd best be off. I wouldn't want you to miss your lesson because I'm very much looking forward to its result." Charles cleared his throat in embarrassment, not quite sure why her stockings – torn from her legs – suddenly had such an effect on him.

Elsie nodded, balling the stockings together in her right hand so that she could throw them away outside. She swiftly walked to the door where her food basket still stood. Charles followed her and handed the basket to her.

"I'm not sure when I will be back, but I'll try not to be too late," she told him.

"Don't worry. I'll fix the shelf in the kitchen and read for a bit. I'm not sure I'll still be up when you return; I am rather tired."

"Of course you are, you're still recuperating," she replied gently.

They stood opposite each other, both unsure of how to say goodbye. Elsie waited for him to do or say something.

Charles studied her face, taking in the faint blush in her cheeks. His eyes finally came to rest on her lips, those lovely, full, rose-coloured lips. He wondered if it were alright if he just…

"Well, I'll be off then," Elsie burst out, entirely too loud. His gaze had been too intense, he had been too close. She needed to get out of the cottage.

He snapped out of his fantasy upon her exclamation, taking a reflexive step back.

"Yes, give my best to Mrs. Patmore."

With a curt nod in reply Elsie Carson swept from the cottage.

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><p>Once she had walked far enough to not be visible from the cottage anymore, Elsie huffed in frustration, barely withstanding the urge to scream her irritation to the high heavens. She had always prided herself about not living in a sack, about knowing what her maids and the footmen were giggling about, about what married couples did when they were alone.<p>

But every time her husband gave even the slightest semblance of wanting more from their marriage, she withdrew in a panic. It wasn't that she didn't want it, she was a healthy woman. And if _Tenant of Wildfell Hall _was to be believed, then there was nothing wrong with a woman having the occasional fantasy and longing.

Her theoretical knowledge didn't make the actual practise easier to manage, though. More than anything really, she was afraid of misreading the signs – of misreading him. Another thing she had never thought she could fail at. But there were so many new emotions possible for him to express now – without the rules and regulations placed on him as a butler – so many unknown ways in which the brown of his eyes now changed in accordance with these new feelings that she felt it nearly impossible to keep up with his transformation.

There was no doubt that they had grown closer during the last week; his misguided admission of love had opened up a part of her. And yet she could not be sure of the depth of his feelings. Her biggest fear was making a fool out of herself by bestowing unwanted affection on him.

She rolled her eyes at her own behaviour. This wasn't her; she wasn't this insecure, floundering woman. She had entered this marriage wilfully, deliberately. She had known that companionship might be the only thing he had to offer her. (But oh how she had wished for him to be more, to be the 'sometimes' she had spoken of so long ago. A man for her to look after, to care for, to share the burden with. A man who loved her and for whom she'd gladly give up some of her fierce independence because they were equals.)

She sighed in resignation but then squared her shoulders in defiance. She'd do well to remember that she was the formidable, temperamental, independent Scottish housekeeper.

Only she wasn't, not anymore.

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><p>I'll admit that it is a bit of a filler chapter but I wanted some more Elsie introspection before the action starts in the next chapter. I cherish all your reviews and would be stupendously happy if you left another one!<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

Special thanks as always to Kouw! Enjoy the calm before the storm ;)

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><p>Charles Carson couldn't remember the last time anything at the Abbey had gone as wrong as the wedding preparations for Lady Mary's second nuptials were going. The only other incident that came to mind was the infamous dinner party during which the oven had broken down – not his favourite memory for a number of reasons, the least of which was the broken appliance.<p>

Anything that could have gone wrong in the last two weeks had gone wrong. The number of guests jumped up and down every day (when had people lost their manners? Cancelling and un-cancelling at the drop of a head), the food they needed was inaccessible, the lace for the wedding dress held up in France and yesterday the new footmen dropped six service plates of the Royal Crown Derby that he had intended to use at the wedding.

He wished his wife was here. Her organisational genius had averted many a crisis in the past, her calmness in light of chaos had often managed to dispel any overwhelming panic he might have felt. But she wasn't.

He had been tempted to ask her to join him but he doubted that she'd want to spend her free time helping Lady Mary. Not when she still begrudged the family the manner in which he had been let go. She denied it, said she understood, but he knew she hadn't forgiven them, could tell from the occasional sharp, almost harsh comment she uttered when he talked about the family. Whether she was only upset about his enforced retirement or whether she also blamed the family for her own situation, he couldn't tell.

He was also loath to admit that the time spent away from her was a blessing in disguise. The time spent working afforded him the opportunity to both forget the dreaded talk he had yet to have with his wife and at the same time gave him the chance to practice what he was going to say to her in his head. It was true that they had grown closer lately, but there still was this lingering look of discontent, of unhappiness in her eyes. She tried to hide it from him (more than she had in the past) but it was there and he knew that it wouldn't go away until they had spoken about their situation openly and honestly like Lady Mary had suggested. He was hopeful that it wasn't really their marriage that caused her restlessness – but he couldn't be sure.

He hurried down the steps from his latest meeting with her Ladyship, disconcerted by the message of one of the hallboys that Anna wished to speak to him. That could only mean more trouble.

He stormed into his wife's former sitting room only to come face to face with the very woman who had been dominating his thoughts over the last months.

"What are you doing here?" he blurted out in honest surprise. He watched in mortification as the enthusiastic smile that had graced her face at his arrival waned and faltered. She defensively sat up straighter at the little table that stood next to her former desk.

"I came to have tea with Mrs. Patmore but Anna seemed a bit overwhelmed with the wedding preparations so I thought I could help out," she explained sharply.

"Forgive my rudeness, of course you are very welcome here." The smile didn't return to her face and he sighed quietly. "You wouldn't happen to know why Anna wanted to see me so urgently, would you?"

"I do. There is a problem with the flowers." He was barely able to stifle a groan as he sank into the chair opposite of her. He rubbed his right hand over his face wearily.

"What on earth is going on here?" Elsie asked, trying to soften her voice in light of his obvious exhaustion.

"I don't know why, but everything is terribly chaotic right now. Nothing works like it is supposed to. Guests call and cancel, only to call again two days later to say that they're attending after all but will now need a room as well. There will be no less than ten children in attendance but only one of the families wants to bring its own nannies along. We don't really have anyone to spare who could look after the children. The Countess of Devonshire demands a very special diet for her husband and it's anyone's guess how coherent he will be this time. And that's not even half of it," he broke off, having run out of steam. His voice reflected his consternation with the situation.

"My my, Mrs. Patmore hasn't exaggerated when she said that she thought the wedding was cursed," Elsie replied, truly shocked by her husband's report. Anna had only briefly hinted at the stress everyone in the house was under before the bell had rung and called her up to Lady Mary's room.

"That's another thing," he sighed deeply. "I don't want to bother Lady Mary with any of it and I'm sure Anna feels the same."

"It's her wedding. Surely she should be involved in all these little dramas if only to prepare her for possible disappointments on the day."

"She's not in a good place right now," Charles explained the dark mood of the eldest Crawley daughter as delicately as he could.

"Why is that? It can't be a case of cold feet, she's done this before and it's not very English to let your nerves get the better of you," Elsie couldn't help the sarcastic edge that had crept into her voice. Her husband's eyes had hardened fractionally at her words and one look into them effectively wiped the half-smirk off her face.

"She hasn't spoken about it but from what I could gather she's afraid of being disloyal to the late Mr. Crawley. She loved him very much," he explained quietly and Elsie felt justifiably chastised for her unfeeling remarks. "I don't want to add to her burden or heighten her panic with all the things that are going wrong right now. The last thing we need is for her to believe Mrs. Patmore's nonsense." Elsie nodded quietly, her heart going out to her compassionate husband.

"So, what is the problem with the flowers then?" he asked, tiredness seeping into his voice.

"Anna said that the florist in Ripon called to inform her that he wouldn't be able to receive the specified flowers in time. He thought he did, but the expected shipment was lost. She wanted to know whether you thought she should tell Lady Mary because there is little time to come up with a different flower arrangement."

Charles groaned in frustration. "I guess it can't be avoided this time."

Elsie studied him thoughtfully. "Why don't you give me a list of the flowers and the menu list for Lord Devonshire. I'll see what I can do," she offered.

He looked at her wide-eyed until the beginning uncertainty on her face caused him to snap out of his stupor. "That would be much appreciated. It would also lighten Anna's load. The poor girl is working entirely too hard." Elsie had to smile softly at his reference to Anna as girl. The young woman was hardly a girl anymore but she had indeed looked very tired earlier.

He quickly walked over to the desk where Anna kept a list of all the things needed for the wedding and handed it to his wife. Thomas Barrow may have grudgingly accepted his strong involvement in the wedding and its preparations but he was entirely unwilling to relinquish his hold on the butler's pantry. Therefore Charles shared his wife's former sitting room with Anna whenever he worked at the Abbey.

Elsie's eyes widened as she looked through the list of flowers Lady Mary wished to find adorning the church. They widened even more at the choice of flowers for the bouquet. "Calla lilies, really?" Elsie asked incredulously – Lady Mary's mood had to be darker than her husband had let on earlier. Picking funeral flowers for a wedding was either terribly inappropriate or some new London trend that she hadn't heard of. She was almost convinced that the latter was the case, seeing as they usually had to be imported from South Africa.

"Is that a problem?" Charles asked anxiously, entirely unfamiliar with botany. He had come to stand next to her, so Elsie had to crane her neck to look at him.

"It might be," she said but when she saw his face fall, she quickly took his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Let's not despair yet. I'll see what I can do."

He simply pressed her hand gently, gratefully. He couldn't help but think that with both of them back to oversee the preparations for the wedding not much could go wrong.

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><p>Over the next two weeks they easily fell back into their old, comfortable pattern. She would accompany him to the Abbey most mornings, gradually taking over all the small duties that were needed to keep the Abbey up and running while her husband and Anna focused on the wedding and its preparation. She carefully made sure to stay in the background, not wishing to give Anna or the head housemaid the impression of taking over. She enjoyed spending some time in the kitchen, discussing the wedding menu and needed ingredients with Mrs. Patmore while sharing more than one cup of tea.<p>

Elsie felt back on solid ground at the Abbey, purposeful, needed. She bloomed when all around her staff was complaining about the extra strain, the pre-wedding dinner parties.

Her relationship with her husband was also slowly returning to its former, familiar state. They gradually began bickering again, exchanging small bouts of wit between their duties. She was unwilling to dissect the change in her mood too closely or what the impending ending of her engagement at the Abbey might mean.

The only fly in the ointment came in the form of Thomas Barrow, who – in light of his hurt pride over having been excluded from the planning of the wedding or indeed the wedding festivities themselves – never missed a chance to needle them about their supposed retirement. One evening before dinner she and Charles had happened upon him explaining to the rest of the servants that he hoped he'd never be forced to retire if it made people so unbearably unhappy that they'd rather return to work without pay than stay at home and face their miserable life. It had taken a very quick intervention from Mrs. Patmore and some pointed words from Mr. Bates to stop Charles from physically disciplining the butler. As it was, Charles had contented himself with haughtily consoling Mr. Barrow that once he had mastered his craft, the family would surely trust him with future events.

Elsie Carson made her way through the servants' hall after having wished Mrs. Patmore goodnight. She hadn't seen her husband in the last half hour but she was sure that he wouldn't have left without her. When she pushed the door open to what had become their and Anna's sitting room, she found him asleep in one of the chairs, his head having lolled uncomfortably to the side. She walked up to him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Charles wake up," she tried to rouse him softly. He snapped awake and looked at her through bleary eyes.

"I was waiting for you," he rumbled quietly, and the double meaning wasn't lost on her. She smiled gently as she held her hand out to him.

"I know. Come on now, let's go home."

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><p>Little historical note: The Countess of Devonshire was known as being especially snobbish and impolite towards servants. Her husband had suffered a stroke at the time of this story (ca 1925) and was therefore not always certifiably sane.<p>

I want to take a moment to thank all you wonderful people for reading and reviewing my little story. I couldn't have wished for a nicer response.

I love hearing from you, I love reading your speculations, so please leave a review if you have the time!


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you Kouw for everything you do! You're the best and I hope you know it!

A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed and reblogged. It means the world!

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><p>"Thomas!" Elsie Carson's voice rang through the servants hall. She walked up to where the Butler had seconds before tormented some poor hallboy. With a wave of her hand she dismissed the lad and then narrowed her eyes at the man in front of her.<p>

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes?" he asked snidely. She bristled at his behaviour but forced herself to remain calm.

"A piece of advice, _Mr. Barrow_," she put acerbic emphasis on his full name "if you, for once in your life, helped with the work that is to be done and didn't waste your time hindering those who are actually trying to be productive, the family might not feel the need to get external help the next time there is a function."

"And here I thought you might be grateful for my behaviour, Mrs. Carson. After all, am I not awarding you the chance to escape your obviously dreary retirement?" Thomas drawled sarcastically.

Elsie forced herself to not clench her hands into fists, to not give her opponent the chance of seeing the effect he had on her. "Don't tempt me to go and inform his Lordship of your behaviour, Thomas." She dropped his last name again, because she certainly did not respect the current Butler of the Abbey enough to warrant its use. Instead of answering her, Thomas simply put on his haughtiest pout and swept past her, making his way to his pantry.

Elsie didn't linger downstairs but instead made her way upstairs, intent on helping with the arrangement of the rooms for the wedding guests. On the second landing however, she had to stop. She leant against the wall as her heart pounded loudly in her chest and her insides clenched with the same overwhelming feeling of anxiety that had been her constant companion in the last two days. She no longer feared that she was having a heart attack (as she had the first night his had happened, almost waking Charles to call for the doctor) but she could no longer pretend that she was fine.

Charles had picked up on her growing discomfort. He had asked if she was alright but her affirmative answer had closed the topic for him. Or rather, in the last days before the wedding, he didn't have the time or patience to deal with her erratic behaviour. She couldn't blame him when during the last couple of days her mood had changed faster than the weather in Scotland.

She pressed a hand to her chest, taking deep breaths in the hope of slowing down her racing heartbeat. Thomas' behaviour, his insinuations about why she was working at the Abbey, wasn't helping the state she was in. No matter what anyone thought of Downton's current Butler, he had always excelled at reading people, at finding their greatest weakness and ruthlessly using his knowledge to his advantage. It frightened her to think that he had unearthed her paralyzing fear, that he could tell how desperate she was about the fact that the wedding was tomorrow and that her work at the Abbey would end again.

Elsie was afraid of what would happen next, of the loneliness and desperation that might sweep her up again. She would be confined to their cottage again, without purpose, without her husband by her side because he would return to work for the community. Instead of using these last few weeks to look for an alternative occupation for her time, to talk to her husband, she had thrown herself into the job at the Abbey, happily burying the memories of the dark place she had been in before, ignoring the looming date of Lady Mary's wedding and its consequences.

One floor above her the door to the stairway was opened. Elsie pulled herself upright and continued her ascend. Halfway up she was met by Anna, who was hurrying downstairs and looked relieved when she noticed her.

"Oh good, Lady Mary has just asked me to fetch you," Anna said quickly and Elsie could practically see the wheels in the young Lady's maid's head turning as Anna tried to remember all the things she had still left to do.

"I'll go and see her right away. Is there anything else I can help you with?" Elsie asked, desperate for any duties that would keep her mind busy.

"If you could check whether the guest rooms in the East wing are ready, it would be a big help," Anna smiled but then frowned. "Are you alright Mrs. Carson?

"Certainly, why do you ask?" Elsie stood up a bit straighter.

"Forgive me, you simply look a bit tired," Anna replied. "But that's no wonder, is it?"

"No, I assume everyone will be happy when this circus is over tomorrow." _Everyone but me._

Anna only chuckled in response before flying down the stairs. Elsie took a deep, steadying breath. So far she had managed to avoid most contact with Lady Mary. To her knowledge the family had reacted enthusiastically if not a little bemused by her voluntary involvement in the wedding.

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><p>"You wanted to see me, Milady?" Elsie had entered the young Lady's bedroom swiftly. Mary Crawley put the necklace she been inspecting back into her jewellery box before addressing the former housekeeper.<p>

"Ah yes, Mrs. Carson, it's good of you to spare the time," Mary replied loftily. Elsie gave a short nod, clasping her hands in front of her. "I was wondering if there was any news on the flowers. Anna said that you were responsible and with the wedding being tomorrow, I really think we should have the matter settled."

"I'm still waiting to hear back from one of the suppliers from London, Milady. He seemed rather hopeful that he could get the flowers here on time."

"Well, hopeful wasn't quite what _I _was hoping for but I assume it will have to do. Are the alternatives ready just in case?" Lady Mary didn't smile, simply regarded the older woman opposite of her with cool eyes.

"Of course they are," Elsie replied, fighting to keep her voice even.

"That's something at least then," the oldest Crawley daughter stated graciously. She studied Mrs. Carson a moment before adding, "It's good to know that you are feeling more yourself again and are here to help Carson and the others."

It was meant as a compliment but the first part of the young Lady's sentence unsettled her. "I wasn't aware that I had not been myself."

Lady Mary raised an eyebrow at the other woman's retort but Elsie stood her ground. She was no longer an employed servant, she no longer had to hold her tongue if she didn't wish to.

"I simply meant that I was slightly worried when Carson mentioned your vexation with your new situation to me and that it's a relief to see that the matter has obviously been resolved," Mary explained patiently. She dismissed the former housekeeper with a short nod before turning around to rifle through her jewellery box again.

Elsie still stood in the middle of the room, thunderstruck by Lady Mary's words and the implications behind them. She couldn't bring herself to acknowledge the other woman again, couldn't even force a polite "Yes, Milady" past her lips. She simply turned around and left the room, humiliation causing her chest to tighten, her breath to hitch. She couldn't believe her husband had betrayed her and their marriage this way, to Lady Mary of all people.

She squared her shoulders before hastily making her way downstairs again. She was glad to find him in her sitting room – alone. She closed the door with more force than was strictly necessary; startling him into looking up from the ledger he was working on.

"You spoke to Lady Mary about our marriage?" she hissed without preamble. His eyes widened in alarm, giving her all the confirmation she needed. "And what, pray tell, did you talk to her about?"

"Elsie, you should know that I only…," he began haltingly and she suddenly found that she had no wish to hear his excuses.

"I don't care why you did what you did. It is unforgivable!" He looked quite stricken by her words. But then his posture hardened as well.

"I can only assume that you are overtired by your work here. It's a good thing then that you don't have to be here tomorrow during the actual festivities!"

"No, I'm quite done here, I can assure you," Elsie ground out. She shot another dark look at her husband before turning around and storming from the sitting room, the door crashing against the wall from the force with which she had pulled it open. As soon as she had left, a deep sigh escaped his lips.

A few seconds later Mrs. Patmore stuck her head in the door, looking at him in confusion. "What on Earth is going on in here?"

"It's a long story, Mrs. Patmore," Charles sighed, hoping to put a stop to the cook's inquiries before they started in earnest.

"I had honestly hoped you'd have talked about everything by now," Beryl shook her head.

"Everything what?" Charles asked, assuming his most imperious butler-stance as he stared down at the flustered cook. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Maybe you should ask your wife," Beryl replied shortly, refusing to be intimidated by him.

"Oh don't worry, I will," Charles responded darkly. He swept past Mrs. Patmore and left the cook with the unsettling feeling that she had just made matters worse instead of better.

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><p>Charles stayed at the Abbey for the rest of the afternoon, diligently working on the final wedding preparations – finalizing the schedule with both family and servants. Only when the family sat down for their dinner, did he run out of excuses to stay. He watched as Jimmy and Mr. Molesly began carrying up the dishes and listened to the loud stirrings in the kitchen before he went into the sitting room to fetch his coat and bowler.<p>

Back in the hallway, his eyes fell on the closed door of the Butler's pantry and he was overcome by the sudden urge to be inside his former refuge. Barrow would be busy overseeing dinner upstairs so he wouldn't walk in on him. He tried the door and nearly sighed with relief when it opened for him. He quietly closed the door before almost reverently making his way over to his old desk. He sat down in his old chair and allowed a feeling of calmness to settle over him.

Charles smoothed his hands over the flat surface of his desk. For the first time since he had left this pantry for good, he truly missed his position as Butler. He missed the rules and regulations that had defined him for most of his life – that had kept him safe.

A Butler didn't feel – apart from loyalty and devotion to the family he served. He made sure that everything that happened in the house was done with as much propriety and decorum as possible. A Butler was only concerned with matters of the house he served; he didn't have time to observe the endearing way in which the beautiful new head housemaid from Scotland tugged on her lower lip when she was deeply in thought. He also wasn't allowed – many years later – to wonder about the Housekeeper's evenings away from her workplace or who that old friend was that kept sending her letters.

This life had served him well, had protected him from the foolish notions that otherwise might have crept up on him (wondering about the other way, about a wife with clear blue eyes and a quick temper). He had been a good Butler, personal feelings always pushed aside because they were just not allowed, not acceptable (not wanted in light of Alice and Grigg and the whole gruesome mess that was his past). He prided himself in only having faltered a few times – only in light of marriage proposals, deadly illnesses and fresh sea air.

His safety net had ended with retirement though. He was no longer a Butler, the rules and regulations he was so familiar with no longer applied to him. New, uncomfortable norms had taken their place and he struggled with discovering and obeying them.

Suddenly he had found himself a husband, free to indulge in the thoughts that he had always banned strictly from his conscious mind (that had only ever manifested themselves in vivid dreams). He had allowed himself to really notice her: the way her nose wrinkled ever so softly when she was amused by something, the way her eyes changed their colour in reflection of her emotions, the way her fingers held her favourite tea cup in the gentlest manner. Each new observation increased his fascination with her, permitted him to admit that it was indeed love he felt for his wife – not just the deep regard he had always thought he felt for his closest friend.

Retirement had set him up for the fall he now experienced and he felt himself blaming the family for allowing this to happen, her for inviting him into her life only to find him wanting.

He could and would no longer endure her treatment of him. He had always made sure that he was being good and kind to her. He had never pressured her, had thanked her for every meal. He would no longer stand by and allow her to use him as an outlet for her negative emotions. He couldn't go on tip-toeing around her, wary of her ever-changing moods.

Anger began to snake through his body about the way she had not even afforded him the decency of being allowed to defend himself about his talk to Lady Mary. He felt his jaw clench when he reflected on how she always seemed to assume the very worst about him and his behaviour.

Charles shot out of his chair, grabbed his coat and bowler and exited the Abbey without telling anyone that he was leaving. He would not be meek and repentant when he came home, he would not apologize for his talk to Lady Mary. Maybe it was time to fight fire with fire.

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><p>Please don't hate me. I solemnly swear that the talk will come in the next chapter. If you do feel the need to vent your feelings, maybe you'd like to review. I'd love to hear what you think feel/ threw at me in your thoughts ;)


	10. Chapter 10

I was blown away by your lovely reactions to the last chapter and I sincerely hope that this chapter will not come as a disappointment. I'm also not quite sure how wise it is to post this today – after the night we all had – but I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer.

The biggest thank you of all times to my wonderful beta, Kouw! She's makes this story so much better with her kind comments and her wonderful improvements.

Well… here it is... the talk.

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><p>Elsie Carson slammed cupboards closed and pots and pans onto the worktop as she prepared dinner. She was fuming and glad of it. White, hot anger was preferable to the despairing humiliation she had felt hours before. Anger meant that she was in control, far from helpless. Anger meant that she didn't have to deal with the question of how desperate Charles must have been to feel the need to unburden to Lady Mary – a member of the family.<p>

She furiously salted the soup that was to be their dinner. She didn't feel like preparing a lavish meal for him, not after what he had done.

She was startled out of her menacing thoughts by his arrival at their cottage. She had expected him to come home of course. What she had not expected was the front door being thrown closed or his heavy footfall that indicated that he was upset. Normally when they had a disagreement, he was happy to ignore the situation, hoping for it to go away without having to be addressed. At the most he sported a sheepish look and tried to be extra careful around her. He had never actually fought back in all the years she had known him – he had blustered and made cruel comments, but he had never actually shown his anger to her.

She squared her shoulders before he entered the kitchen.

"Dinner is ready," she informed him coldly, effectively taking the opportunity from him to say something to her. He gave a jerky nod in response before stalking out of the kitchen again. He didn't offer to carry the serving dish; he didn't take the bread basket or pick a wine for their meal.

Elsie felt her anger subside as uncertainty took its place. What reason could she have given him to be this distant to her? She shook her head in annoyance. She shouldn't let him unsettle her like that. She had every reason to be cross with him. Still, her anger wouldn't flare again; instead a large ball of dread began to form in her stomach as she hesitantly made her way to the dining room.

They didn't talk during the meal. Both quietly eating the meagre soup (that was entirely too salty), the bland bread. She kept her eyes focused on her plate. The only time she did look up, she found him studying her with hard eyes before he lowered his eyes to his own plate again.

When they were done, she went into the kitchen and retrieved a tray, convinced that he wouldn't help clearing the table.

Charles observed his wife as she carefully cleared the table. How dare she blame him for speaking to Lady Mary when she had happily discussed their troubled marriage with Mrs. Patmore? He had reached the end of his tether with her; he was tired of dealing with her rapidly changing emotions, with her constant underlying look of dissatisfaction.

The plates rattled as she put them on the tray. He noticed that her hands were shaking slightly. She wouldn't look at him but she bit down on her bottom lip so firmly that he was afraid she'd draw blood.

He supressed a sigh as his vexation with her gave way to compassion and an overwhelming feeling of helpless fatigue. She looked as unhappy as he felt and no matter how bad things were between them, he could never want her to suffer because of him. He startled her when he suddenly got up from his chair and walked around the table. "Give it to me," he said quietly, his hands reaching out to take the tray from her.

"There's no need, I can do it." She fought to keep the tray steady.

"You've cooked, I can clean up," he replied firmly and she let go of the tray. "Why don't you sit down in the living room," he suggested in a flat voice and she nodded numbly in return.

Elsie sat down on the little settee, which stood facing his old armchair. She hadn't protested when he had insisted on bringing it with him from the Abbey. It probably reminded him of old times and decades of use had moulded the old leather to perfectly fit his form. She studied the chair and couldn't help noticing the parallels to its owner. Rigid, steady, slightly worn yet comforting.

She heard him potter about in the kitchen and closed her eyes in exhaustion as she allowed a wave of self-pity to wash over her. What had she or her husband done to deserve this sorry mess they found themselves in and why on Earth couldn't she manage to steer them back unto the right track, like she always had when they were still working together?

Her eyes flew open again as something nudged her shoulder. He stood before her, two glasses of sherry in his hand.

"Here," he offered quietly and she took the glass with a nod of thanks. He sat down opposite of her and fixed her with his solemn glare. "I think we need to talk."

Her hand tightened around her glass, desperately attempting to conceal the panicked shaking that had taken hold of her at his words. She forced herself to continue looking at him, biting the inside of her cheek to find an outlet for her overwrought emotions. She tasted blood.

"I gather you have spoken to Mrs. Patmore," he began softly and her eyes widened as she understood the reason for his earlier ill humour. "From what I hear and observe you must be terribly unhappy." Addressing his greatest fear took more strength than he had anticipated. He felt his own shoulders droop as he lowered his eyes to rest on the glass of sherry in his hands.

Elsie felt tears brimming in her eyes. How unfair it was for them to even have this discussion – after things had been going so well for a few weeks. Still, she knew that he was right. It was time to open up about what was between them. "I have been for a while," she admitted quietly.

It broke her heart to see him nodding despondently, hunching over even further in his seat. "Please believe me when I say that none of it has been your fault," she felt the overwhelming need to reassure him.

He raised his eyes again, studying her for a moment. "How can it not be when it all started with our marriage?"

She had to avert her eyes from his probing gaze, letting them wander over their living room taking in the little knick-knacks that had accumulated and that had made it their home. Her eyes finally settled on their wedding picture, which stood over the fireplace. How stiff they both looked, barely a smile on their faces.

Before she was able to formulate a reply, an explanation for her feelings of discontent, he spoke again.

"I hope you know that I've never wanted you to be unhappy." She nodded almost eagerly but he was too caught up in his desperate sadness to notice her reaction. "I've been a coward long enough, placing my happiness before yours."

His maudlin tone, the vacant expression in his eyes began to make her nervous. She didn't think he was drawing the right conclusions from this. "What do you mean?" Her voice shook ever so slightly. He gulped down the rest of his sherry. "I'm sure we can come up with something. You could go to your sister; say that she needs your help. People will stop asking awkward questions eventually."

She gaped at him, horrified at what she was hearing. "You're cutting me loose?" she asked, incredulous that he could become so caught up in his own notion of the truth that he didn't even pause to ask for her opinion on the matter.

"I think it's for the best," he spoke quietly, flatly. He got up from his armchair and made to head outside but her sharp voice stopped him.

"Charles Carson! Stop right there!" His defeatist acceptance of the failing of their marriage had given her strength. And wasn't that what made them who they were? When one faltered, the other showed courage. "Look at me!" she commanded and was gratified when he turned around to face her again, his eyes wide with disbelief at the tone she was taking with him.

"Don't you think that I deserve to have a say in this?" she challenged, her eyes on fire. All he could do was nod numbly. She took three brisk steps until she stood right in front of him, looking him straight in the eyes. "I will not go to my sister. I will not go anywhere. When I said that my unhappiness has nothing to do with you, I was speaking the truth. I don't like it when you doubt my word!" she exclaimed forcefully.

She saw him wince slightly and suddenly dread began to infuse her again. Doubts crashed over her like tidal waves. What if he was simply being a gentleman? What if he actually was the one that wanted out of their strained marriage and her perceived unhappiness afforded him the chance to fulfil his wish? She quickly took a step back again, clasping her hands tightly in front of her.

"Unless you want me to go. Then I will abide by your wishes because I wouldn't want you to be unhappy either," her voice had lost its earlier vigour; the brief resurgence of her former strength quenched again.

He watched her pale face, her white knuckles, her lips tightly pressed together and in that moment he knew that there was only one response he could give that would end this unbearable discussion one way or the other. With one large step he was in front of her. Before she had the chance to escape, he had taken her by the shoulders and crashed her to him, his lips claiming hers in a fierce demonstration of his feelings. He heard her squeak in surprise and she freed herself from his tight hold. He was afraid that she might push him away, but she only used her hands and arms to pull him tighter against her, intensifying their kiss, making him breathless. The kiss was nothing like the gentle worshipping he imagined he'd bestow upon her if he ever got the chance. He wasn't tender as he hungrily nipped at her lips, as he eagerly explored her mouth with his tongue.

Elsie was unable to form a coherent thought. She was swept up in a hazy torrent of relief, lust and passion. Only when he started kissing his way along the side of her face, down her jaw and then gently sucked at her pulse point, did she find the whole experience too much to cope with. She pressed her face tightly against his chest, hoping to dispel the tears that had gathered in her eyes.

Charles noticed the change in her posture almost instantly. He stopped his hungry ministration of her body and enfolded her in a loving hug, tenderly cradling the back of her head as he pressed a gentle kiss to her hair. Elsie felt as if she was wrapped in a blanket of security and belonging. After a few moments, simply enjoying the closeness of the other, he put two fingers under her chin and lifted her face so that she was looking up at him. For the first time in the last months he didn't feel troubled that he couldn't identify every single emotion that was reflected in her clear blue eyes.

"I love you," he said softly. She gasped quietly, tears beginning to cloud her vision. He used his right hand to cup her face. "I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner."

"You have," she replied gently. He raised his eyebrows in confusion and she pressed her face into the hand cupping her face before she continued. "When you were ill you said you loved me. Just before you fell asleep on that first day. I was convinced that you didn't know who I was… that you had me confused with someone else in a feverish dream."

He brushed his thumb over her cheek as he looked at her intently. "There's only ever been you," he declared in a thick voice. She rewarded his admission with a brilliant smile, effectively dispelling her tears.

"Do you want to know what I told you that night?" she asked and he detected the faint notion of mischief in her eyes. He nodded and she pushed herself up, steading herself with her hands on his shoulders as she leant in closer, her mouth near his ear as she whispered. "I love you, too."

He crushed her to him for a second time, hugging her close for a few seconds before leaning back and recapturing her lips. This time he was slower, gentler, making sure that he carefully explored the contours of her lips as he peppered them with tiny kisses. His hands were running down her back while she snaked hers into his hair. He was spurred on by her heavy breathing; by the way she seemed to melt into him.

Charles wasn't sure how long they stood in the middle of the living room, kissing, when his wife suddenly tensed in his arms. He drew back in confusion. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied quickly but he noticed how she couldn't look at him. He thought he understood what might be the problem.

"My love," he marvelled at being able to address her in this way and even more at her instantaneous reaction to it as her eyes returned to his. "I'm quite tired and tomorrow is going to be a long day. Would you mind terribly if we went to bed now?" She shook her head but her teeth began worrying her lower lip again and gave him the confirmation he needed of why she was this tense all of a sudden.

"Do you know what I've always dreamed of?" he asked, making sure that his voice was soft, loving. She shook her head again. He encircled her waist with his arms and drew her a little closer. "Falling asleep holding you and waking up with you in my arms." This time two tears escaped her eyes at his gentle, innocent admission.

"I'd like that," she whispered. He smiled softly before taking her hand and leading her up the stairs. He knew that their talk wasn't finished yet, that they still had a lot to discuss, but for now he'd revel in the elating feeling of having the woman he loved, loving him back.

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><p>Well, this is sort of the centre-piece of the story. So please, leave a review and tell me what you thought. I love hearing from you!<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

I'm sure my family and friends would be quick to tell you that me being speechless is a very rare sight. Still, that is what your lovely responses to the last chapter made me. I can't thank all of you enough. I hope I have managed to reply to all the reviews, but I would like to take a moment to thank all the guest reviewers for being as wonderful and supportive as they are.

As always, my deepest gratitude goes to **Kouw** for fighting through endless run-on sentences and inconsistencies to give this story its final touches. As my students would say: bestest beta in the world!

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><p>When Charles awoke the next morning, he was lying on his side facing his still sleeping wife. Despite what he had told her last night, he didn't have his arms around her but he didn't really mind. She lay considerably closer to him than she had in all the nights before, she was turned towards him and their hands were almost touching where they lay next to their faces. He had never really noticed before that their sleeping positions were almost identical. He took a moment to study her relaxed face, to take in the tiny wisps of hair that had come undone from her braid during the night.<p>

Warmth infused him when he thought back to the last night, the first evening they had spent going to bed together.

After some awkward shuffling in the bed (and a lot of time spent separately in the bathroom to get ready, to brush their teeth and have a quick wash) they had finally managed to find a comfortable position. She had spooned against him and he had tentatively draped an arm around her middle – careful not to pull her too close, not to frighten her.

When she had put her hand on top of his, which had come to rest on her stomach, he had felt tears gathering in his eyes. He had quickly swallowed them, not wanting the tender moment to become overshadowed by melancholia and regret. She had squeezed his hand lovingly and after a few moments he had felt the tension leave her shoulders, her body sagging further into the mattress. Once he had been sure his body wouldn't betray him and the trust she placed in him, he had edged a little closer until her back had rested against his chest. With a contented sigh he had closed his eyes only to open them again when he had heard her whispered "I love you." He had pressed a reverent kiss to her shoulder, reciprocating the sentiment. Although he had meant to enjoy that lovely moment for a while longer, his exhausted body had whisked him off to dreamland as soon as he had closed his eyes again.

Waking next to her now and being able to watch her (because he didn't have to be afraid of what she might think when she woke up and caught him staring), filled him with an overwhelming joy he could not have anticipated. He knew that he should let her sleep because, unlike him, she didn't have to get up but he simply couldn't help himself.

He covered her hand with his and gently smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand. When her eyelids fluttered open, he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to it.

"Good morning." Her voice was still thick with sleep and he couldn't help but smile at how endearing she looked right after waking up.

"Good morning," he rumbled in reply before pressing another kiss to the inside of her wrist. She closed her eyes at the unexpected gesture but the content smile on her lips reassured him that it was most definitely appreciated. "I'm sorry, I should have let you sleep," he apologized – although he didn't really feel sorry about enjoying this loving moment with her.

"It's alright, I can get up and make breakfast for you," she replied, but made no move to get out of bed.

"No, you should enjoy your little lie-in. I can manage on my own."

"Alright," she yawned, sleep already beckoning her again. She closed her eyes as he got out of bed but opened them again when he gently kissed her forehead.

"Maybe you could wait up for me tonight. I'd love for us to enjoy a sherry like in the old days." Her eyes clouded over briefly but then cleared again. "I think I should be able to manage that," she replied with a soft smile. He kissed her again – on the lips – before leaving the bedroom.

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><p>Forty-five minutes later Charles arrived at the Abbey, which was bustling with activity although the ceremony was still a few hours away. He oversaw the preparation of the Great Hall before heading back downstairs to make sure that the hallboys remembered in which way the family wanted the marquees to be positioned on the lawn. The weather forecast had promised a mix of sun and clouds for today but it was best to be prepared. Charles was always glad when the guests had the opportunity to venture outside – it gave everyone inside the Abbey a little more space to breathe even if the trips to the gardens meant longer ways for the servers.<p>

As soon as he had arrived downstairs, he was stopped by a small middle aged man. "Excuse me, I'm looking for a Mrs. Carson." Charles raised his eyebrows in confusion before replying. "I'm Mr. Carson, may I be of help?"

"I'm bringing the flowers," the other man explained in a thick Cockney accent. Charles nodded and with a quick wave of his hand beckoned Anna to follow him outside. There they were met with two small lorries full of intricately arranged flowers of different varieties and colours.

"She really did it," Anna exclaimed in awe. She quickly went back inside, returning a moment later with two hallboys and three maids, carefully instructing them which flowers were to be brought inside and which needed to go to the church.

"Please sign here," the supplier unceremoniously pressed a form into Charles' hand. After Charles had placed his signature the other man began chuckling merrily. "That's quite the missus you have at home, Sir."

Charles tore his eyes away from watching the servants carrying the exotic flowers inside and focused his attention on the man in front of him. "What do you mean?"

"Asking for this kind o' flowers at the beginning of May for such a low price and on such short notice? Had my boss nearly in tears, she did." The other man still laughed to himself.

Charles wasn't sure how to reply to the praise for his wife. He silently agreed with the supplier's assessment of his Elsie, she truly was the best at what she did… what she had done. Charles felt the scales fall from his eyes as another tiny mosaic aligned in his head. He quickly instructed the supplier on how to find the church and sent the hallboys along with him before hurrying back inside.

He found both Anna and Mrs. Patmore in the kitchen, debating the best way to ensure that Lord Devonshire would only get the canapés that his wife had previously approved of.

"Could you spare me for half an hour? I'm afraid I've forgotten something very important at home."

If he had expected the two women to be confused by his cryptic words, he was sorely disappointed. Mrs. Patmore simply raised an eyebrow before replying. "We had wondered when you'd notice."

Charles felt his jaw drop briefly but he quickly regained his composure. He simply shook his head as both the cook and the Lady's maid tried to stifle a grin.

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><p>Elsie was in the middle of her second cup of tea, lost in thought as she recalled the whirlwind of emotions that had been the last night. She was startled out of her reverie by the front door being thrown open, prompting her to spill some of her tea over her dressing gown.<p>

"Elsie?" her husband called loudly and she instantly stopped her efforts of cleaning her gown and rushed out to meet him in their living room.

"Charles, what on Earth are you doing here? What's happened?" she asked, putting a hand on his arm in concern over seeing him so flustered.

"Get dressed!" he ordered while trying to catch his breath.

"What?" she asked in confusion, beginning to worry that he was suffering a stroke.

"I said, get dressed. You'd better hurry, we don't have much time," he looked at her eagerly while she continued to gape at him.

"Whatever would I need to get dressed for so urgently?" she stammered. He took a step closer to her and put his hands on her waist, gazing at her intently.

"You should be there today. You've worked as hard as everyone else, you should get to see it," he explained with a patient smile.

"Why? Do you need an additional pair of hands?" she teased softly, still unsure what to make of her husband's behaviour.

"No, I need my wife to be there. I want you to be a part of today," he explained and the gentle conviction in his eyes nearly brought tears to her eyes. Instead of coming up with a witty reply to his revelation, she pushed herself up and kissed him square on the mouth before turning around with a mischievous smile and heading upstairs.

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><p>I hope you liked this little interlude. The talk will continue in the next chapter. I'd love it if you left another review and shared your thoughts with me!<p> 


	12. Chapter 12

Thank you **Kouw** for being absolutely amazing!

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><p>The day passed in a flurry of activity for both of them. In church they had sat next to each other as they had done countless times before – but this time he had covertly reached for her hand when the vows were exchanged, had delighted in the small blush that had spread over her cheeks, in the way she had gently squeezed his hand in return.<p>

He had been able to work his magic upstairs because he knew that she kept things running smoothly downstairs (preventing Mrs. Patmore from braining the additionally hired kitchen help for nearly ruining the cake; already having an extra set of champagne flutes at the ready when one of the footmen dropped his tray on the stairs).

When bride and groom left the reception (to head towards their honeymoon in Southern Italy), so did he. Charles didn't inform the family, simply handed the reigns over to Mr. Barrow before making his way downstairs. If his wife was surprised to find him waiting in her sitting room with her coat in his hands, she didn't show it. He wordlessly helped her into it before both said a brief goodbye to Anna and Mrs. Patmore (a quick promise made between the women to sit down for tea soon, to discuss the gentle touches that he had bestowed upon her all day).

Only the faintest glimmer of sunlight still touched the horizon as they made their way back to the cottage arm in arm. When they arrived, Elsie was shivering slightly. In her haste in the morning she had picked her light summer coat, forgetting that the evenings still tended to cool considerably.

She smiled softly when Charles put his hands on her shoulders from behind after he had gone to hang up their coats. "You should take a hot bath," he suggested tenderly. She leant back against his chest, enjoying his warm body close to hers before she nodded in agreement. "That would be nice."

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><p>When she returned from the bath thirty minutes later, she was dressed only in her shift, her thick terry cloth dressing gown tied over it. She padded into the bedroom and smiled softly upon noticing the small fire burning in the fireplace, the room already enveloped in comfortable warmth. She went over to the cupboard, carefully hanging up her evening dress when she heard Charles enter their bedroom. She turned around, her eyebrows lifting in surprise as she noticed that he had already changed into his pyjamas. His smile became sheepish when he noticed her reaction. He dropped his eyes to the tray he was carrying.<p>

"I made dinner. I thought we could enjoy it in bed," he gave a little self-deprecating chuckle, "I'm sorry, it was a silly idea. I'll bring it back downstairs and then we can eat properly." He began to leave again but she held him back.

"Charles, I've told you before. We can afford to live a little," she smiled gently before moving towards their bed. She made sure that the bedspread completely covered the sheets before sitting down gingerly. Her husband put the tray on her little bedside table before presenting his choices for dinner to her.

"Would you prefer the cold chicken sandwich or the ham and cheese one?" he asked in his best butler voice as he bowed slightly before her. She barely suppressed a very unladylike giggle as she pretended to magnanimously study the alternatives. "I think I'd prefer the chicken one."

"Very well, Milady," he passed the plate to her and she settled it on her lap. "Would you care for some Pinot Noir with your meal?" This time a little laugh escaped her before she nodded her agreement to his choice of wine. When he was done serving her, he settled down on the bed next to her and they enjoyed their quiet picnic in bed. Once they had finished, Elsie quickly got off the bed and insisted on bringing the dirty dishes downstairs.

When she returned, Charles had settled back against the headboard. He hadn't pulled the bedspread off, which confused her a little but then she noticed the way he was positioned awkwardly, almost insecurely in the middle of the bed. If she wanted to join him, she'd have to lie against him. She hesitated for only a second before making her way to the bed – fighting the ridiculous urge to pull the dressing gown tighter around herself – and settling down next to him. He immediately put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer against his side. He waited patiently as she gradually relaxed against him. Her racing heart slowed down at the realization of how comfortable being snuggled against him made her feel. Finally, she leant against him fully, allowing her hand to reach out and lightly pet his chest. His hand almost instantaneously came up and covered hers tenderly, a content sigh escaping his lips.

"We didn't get to finish what we began last night," he spoke softly and instantly cursed his choice of words when he felt her tense again. "I would like us to continue our talk if you don't mind." She relaxed once more, her fingers playing with the fabric of his pyjama top even as his large hand lay over hers. Elsie's eyes were focused on their hands as she nodded in agreement, not quite sure what to say, waiting for him to start the conversation.

"Won't you tell me what made you so unhappy?" he inquired softly, lightly caressing the back of her hand with his thumb. She took a deep breath as she mulled her possible answers over in her mind.

"It was a combination of many small things, I think," she began slowly. "I wasn't used to having so much time to myself and I certainly wasn't used to not knowing what to do with myself. And you… you adapted so very well to your new life." His thumb stopped its caresses at her perceived reproach and she quickly closed her fingers around his hand and looked up at him. "Don't misunderstand me; I didn't begrudge you your easy transition. I was a little proud to be honest. I was just… a little jealous as well." She lowered her eyes again and now smoothed her thumb over his knuckles. "For all my life I had known where I was headed, what I was doing. Retirement took that away. I didn't know how to be a lady of leisure. I didn't know how to be a wife. I didn't even know if you really wanted a marriage in the true sense." He brought her hand up to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

"You must have known that nothing would change between us. We were practically married when we worked together," he replied gently.

"You know that is not true. We were never free to meet when we wanted, we were never undisturbed for too long. We never discussed anything in depth. We may have shared what we were feeling – sometimes – but we were neither able nor allowed to venture deeper. We never managed to break down those societal barriers between us. So I was very much hoping for some change between us when we married. I wanted us to be able to talk freely."

"But we weren't really able to talk once we were married," he interjected softly, drawing her a little closer to him.

"No, we weren't," she briefly worried her lower lip, "I wasn't sure… that is to say… I didn't know how you felt and then you were never home so I just assumed you wanted someone to keep you company, not necessarily a wife."

He began chuckling and she nearly pulled away from him in vexation, but he tightened his hold on her. "And I always thought that I was being uncomfortably obvious about my feelings. I bought you an electric hair-dryer for Heaven's sake. The sound that demonic contraption makes alone should have been enough to make me run out of the house in a blind panic – but I stayed, I bought it for you, because I love you," he rumbled softly and she melted back against him.

"As much as I enjoy the little gestures, it might be better if we were to be a bit more honest with each other from now," she remarked quietly. He simply pressed a kiss to her forehead in agreement.

"What about you?" she asked softly. "You can't have been happy with the way things were going."

"I wasn't unhappy as such," Charles mused quietly. "I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't think too closely about our marriage before it happened. I was more concerned about the end of my life at Downton. I knew you were my closest, most trusted friend so I didn't see any great problems about us living together." He paused for a moment, reflecting on how blind, how naive he had been. She squeezed his hand gently and he looked down to find her smiling benevolently, almost forgivingly. "You must think me a great simpleton for assuming that nothing would change between us, that spending day and night together wouldn't alter everything between us." She shook her head softly but didn't speak so Charles decided to continue. "I have always been in control of everything at Downton, hardly anything caught me unprepared but being married to you… I don't know why I expected any different when I had no control over your reactions in the past twenty years, not even when I might have, but being this close to you and suddenly not being able to read you anymore, it unsettled me." She had grown very still in his arms and he was afraid that he wasn't explaining himself very well. Still, she had demanded honesty and honesty she would get. "I was afraid, Elsie. I've always been a bit of a coward but when you withdrew from me… I didn't know what to do so I stayed away. I thought you might not want me here, I thought you might have realized that retiring with me had been a mistake." He broke off, not capable of exposing himself even more. She still hadn't reacted to his words and it was beginning to worry him in earnest now. He pulled back slightly and was stunned by the tears that were silently trickling down his wife's face.

"Hey now, what's this?" he asked softly as he tenderly wiped at her tears with his left hand, his right arm still cradling her close protectively.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, pressing her face into his side. He put his left arm around her as well as he gently pulled her close, rubbing soothing circles over her back.

"There is nothing to be sorry for, my love. At least nothing that I shouldn't be apologizing for as well. I was too obtuse and too frightened to address our problems and you were too insecure to force me. So either we are both to blame here or no one is." He felt her nod against his shoulder. He continued to hold her until she finally lifted her head again, fixing him with her blue eyes.

"I want you here," she insisted. "I need you here."

He captured her lips in a gentle kiss that was meant to express all those things he couldn't put into words at that moment. When the kiss ended, she put her head onto his chest with a contented sigh, the steady beating of his heart slowly but surely luring her to sleep.

He tugged her head under his chin as he enjoyed the feeling of her warm body in his arms. There was one more topic he knew they needed to address. He needed to take away her fear of what he might expect of her in the bedroom. He wasn't quite sure what it was that had her so apprehensive but he knew that he needed to help her overcome her fears if their marriage was to ever become comfortable.

But not tonight, not when she was nestled against him so snuggly, when her body was already heavy with sleep and when he himself could barely keep his eyes open. He briefly debated whether he should wake her again so they could get under the covers, but then decided against it. He, himself, would make sure that she felt warm and secure and loved.

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><p>Your reactions to the last chapter were overwhelmingly lovely once again. I'm truly humbled by your generous and wonderful reviews. I can't tell you how much they mean to me!<p>

That's why I can't wait to hear from you again. Please consider leaving a review if you have the time! Happy Downton Day to those able to "celebrate" it.


	13. Chapter 13

Ratings change! This is M-rated (never thought I'd write those words).

I can't thank my lovely, brilliant, amazing beta **Kouw **enough for her help with this chapter. If you want to read the best smut (and Chelsie feels), you should check out her stories. She knows how it's done! I can also recommend the brilliant deedee, the equally amazing Mona Love or Chelsie Dagger and of course GeordieLass… and all the others because everyone in this fandom seems to be so good at writing smut.

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><p>When Elsie woke up again, she was momentarily confused by the weight on her shoulders before the last night came back to her. She lifted her head from her husband's chest, careful to keep her movements light, not wishing to wake him. He still sat half reclined against the headboard, but he hadn't relinquished his hold on her. She silently revelled in their innocent closeness, in the feeling of security and love he provided her. She was tempted to brush his errant curl from his forehead, but instead decided to enjoy her chance of unabashedly studying his face.<p>

She smiled happily as she recalled their earlier conversation, his gentle words and his reassurances. This time it had been him that had moved them past the remaining obstacles in their way and she couldn't have been more grateful. Her eyes focussed on his lips, parted slightly in his sleep. She thought back to their first stormy kiss and the many gentler ones that had followed in the last two days. She couldn't have imagined how much she would enjoy feeling his soft lips capturing hers, how loved and secure she would feel when his strong arms wrapped around her and pressed her to him.

She knew that it wouldn't only be kisses that he'd want to exchange with her in the future. She was no young, naïve girl anymore, she knew what men wanted, what they expected of their wives. Elsie would never assume that her husband would force her to do anything against her will, but she was convinced that before long he'd want to become intimate and it frightened her.

It wasn't that she hadn't thought about it before… it wasn't that she hadn't imagined it, wanted it, even. She was well aware that the tingling and tightening between her legs, the wetness gathering there when he kissed that certain spot behind her left ear, when his tongue circled around hers in that specific way, were perfectly normal physical expressions of love and lust.

Still, whenever she perceived that he wanted to take their intimacies a step further, she withdrew in a panic. She, herself, wasn't even sure what always caused her to push him away. Maybe it was the thought of him seeing all of her, unfiltered, unprotected by the tight reigns of her corset. Maybe it was her lack of experience; the nagging questions of what one did to please a man, of how to position oneself, of how to move. Maybe it really was a bit of everything.

Charles might think that he had been fast enough at covering up the looks of disappointment that had flitted over his face whenever she had ended another of their little kissing sessions before it could get too far, but she had seen them and they tore at her heart. He deserved to get what he wished for and surely it was only a matter of forcing herself, her overactive mind, past this first phase of insecurity.

Her husband had been so very loving, so very patient with her that he deserved to enjoy married life to its fullest. If the talks she had caught between other married women (and even those unmarried) were any indication, then there was a chance that the act of making love would become enjoyable after a while (and wouldn't it have to be when women like Ethel were prepared to throw away their futures for it?). Elsie took a deep breath to dispel the nervous fluttering in her stomach. She could do this, she was strong enough to face her panic and it really was on her to move them over that last hurdle on their way towards a truly fulfilled marriage.

She carefully pushed herself up and began to softly ghost her lips over his chin, his cheeks, his nose before finally settling on his lips. Elsie smiled when her husband reacted almost instantly, drawing her even closer to him as he eagerly began nipping at her lips.

Charles needed a moment to realize that he wasn't having the most pleasant dream, that his wife was indeed lying almost flush against him and caressing his face with tiny kisses. In his sleepy haze he eagerly returned her affections, but when his hands began running up and down her arms, he became fully awake with a start. He immediately grasped her shoulders and halted her movements.

"What are you doing?" he rumbled, his voice even gravellier than it normally was.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" She quipped, hoping that sass might cover up her nerves. He gripped her shoulders a little firmer, pushing her slightly away from him so that he could look into her eyes.

"Elsie, if you were any tenser, you'd be in danger of snapping. So, I'm asking again – what are you doing?"

"You're a man," she blurted out, her eyes focussing on the cleft in his chin.

"That is, I think, a safe statement to make. What does that have to do with all this?" He felt her trying to push back fully from him but he wouldn't let her.

"Men have needs," she replied stubbornly.

"Oh really, and what is it I need according to your expertise?" he asked patiently but with an underlying edge to his voice.

"I don't live with the fairies, Charles, I'm well aware that men need… that they want…," she huffed in frustration about her inability to express herself and his unwillingness to help her out of this mortifying situation.

"So you thought you'd give me what I need in spite of your personal feelings on that matter," he concluded flatly.

"Yes… no!" her eyes widened in horrification as she realized what she had implied. She finally managed to pull free from him and sat up angrily, her back to him, before pulling her dressing gown tighter around herself. Why did he have to make this even more complicated?

"Elsie, I don't know where your convictions about what men want or need come from – and I'm not sure I want to know – but some men are actually able to live without any form of physical release. What do you think Catholic priests do?"

"Well, there have been stories about those," she replied defiantly. "And do you mean to tell me that you have never… been intimate with a woman?"

"I didn't say that because it would be a lie," he admitted quietly. He couldn't see her face and it unsettled him to not be able to gauge her reaction from her mimics. "I have, however, not been with anyone for the past twenty years."

She looked back at him over her shoulder, trying to assess the truthfulness of his statement (how could she not doubt with twenty years of London seasons? With twenty years of worrying what or whom he may find there?). His face hardened when he realized the intention behind her action.

"I could never want us to be intimate if you didn't want it. That is not what any honourable man would do, and certainly no husband."

"But I want you to be happy," she protested.

"And who says I'm not? Your opinion of me must be very low if you think that I could only be happy as long as you please me in the bedroom."

He definitely sounded angry now and Elsie bit her lower lip in frustration. They stayed quiet for a few moments as she toyed with the bed-spread, lost in thought.

"What if I want it too?" she muttered hesitantly. She couldn't look at him.

"Forgive me, but I have a hard time believing that," his voice sounded harsher than he had intended it to. He instantly felt sorry, even more so when he heard her breath hitch.

"I don't know how," she whispered insecurely and he could clearly hear the beginning tears in her voice. He quickly leant forward and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against him, cradling her small body against his large frame.

"I love you Elsie. I love you whether we share marital intimacies or not," he told her in a firm voice. He put his right hand under her chin and lifted her face so that she had to look at him. "And if you want this, truly want this, it will be my pleasure to show you how." She didn't reply but pushed herself up to capture his lips in a searing kiss that had little to do with thanking him for his gentle words. Charles tried to fight the arousal that stirred in him when she kissed him so insistently, so hungrily.

"Elsie," he tried to interrupt her ministrations breathlessly.

"Please," she whispered urgently, pressing more kisses to his cheeks, his chin, his lips. "No more talking… no more thinking," she implored. He grasped her shoulders and skilfully flipped them around, having her lie underneath him as he began caressing her face with gentle kisses. For a long moment he simply explored her mouth with his tongue, nipping playfully, lovingly. She snaked her hands into his hair, pulling his head closer to her.

He then began kissing his way down to her chin, her neck – before finally reaching her collarbone, the only part of her body left he could reach without undressing her.

Her breath hitched as he moved further down, peppering his way with light kisses. When he began pushing her dressing gown from her shoulders, her shift a little lower, she tensed again but he wouldn't be deterred this time. He gently caressed her right breast with his right hand while pressing a reverent kiss to the top of her left breast – unable to believe that he was finally allowed to touch his wife's body this intimately. She pulled her arms out of the dressing gown and was rewarded with a brilliant smile from her husband. He gently moved down the straps of her shift until her upper body was exposed before him. Elsie's apprehension was dissolved almost immediately upon hearing him groan her name in obvious pleasure about her body. She lay still, enjoying being caressed by his hands, his skilful tongue. When his lips closed around her left nipple, she nearly cried out in surprised delight. Instead she felt her body arching against him of its own accord. Her hand found the top of his head, grasping at his hair – all conscious thought effectively driven from her mind.

He made his way further down, pushing her shift over her hips, trailing his way with gentle kisses. When his lips followed the shape of her navel and his large hands moved up her body, caressing her breasts before running down her sides again to rest on her hips, she gasped in quiet delight. Her insides tightened with want while the not unfamiliar wetness began to gather between her legs. He finally pulled her shift over her hips, bringing down her knickers along with it, exposing her completely.

She was pulled out of the aroused daze she had been in with a start and lifted her head. She felt the overwhelming need to cross her legs, to cover herself up. But then… then his lips landed at the place that no other person had ever touched before, not even a doctor. That wonderful, dark place that she had always happened upon when washing herself, that had promised _something _when she had allowed her washcloth to pass over it gently – but that she had never been able to prise its delicious secrets from.

And now he kissed her there and it was shocking, exhilarating. Her hips pushed upwards as his lips travelled further down, kissing the insides of her thighs, his fingers roaming over her stomach before also brushing over the secret place between her legs. A moan escaped her lips but she was too caught up in the moment to be mortified by it.

Charles smiled softly at her reaction, proud of the effect he had on her, of the way he was able to dispel her fears with his gentle touches. He began kissing his way up once more, allowing his large frame to rest a little heavier against her when he finally reached her lips again.

She felt his arousal press against her when he finally returned to eagerly kissing her lips. She carefully raised her lower body to intensify the contact and breathed heavily at the surge of want that coursed through her. He settled himself between her open legs while his attention was still focussed on her lips, his hands mapping the rest of her body, ghosting over her erect nipples, increasing the wetness between her thighs. He lifted himself up and smiled down at her.

"You are so beautiful, my love," he whispered reverently and she had to close her eyes as her love for him and the love she saw reflected in his eyes threatened to overwhelm her. When she opened them again, he was still hovering above her, breathing heavily, obviously waiting for some sign of agreement from her to continue. She gave a hesitant nod and he immediately kissed her again.

He then took his hand and tenderly pushed her legs further apart before making short work of his pyjama pants. He brushed his fingers softly against the secret place between her legs once more, eliciting another breathy moan from her. When he was satisfied (with what she did not know, could only tell from his soft smile), he took his erection and slowly guided himself into her. He was careful to give her time to adjust to him, waiting whenever he felt her tensing in discomfort, whenever she tugged at her lower lip to keep from hissing. When he had finally entered her all the way, he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips which – to his surprise and near undoing – she intensified almost immediately, biting softly on his lower lip, circling her tongue around his.

He set a gentle pace, willing his body to withstand the urge to go faster, giving her the time to adjust her movements, to find a place to put her legs. Slowly but surely she began to mimic his movements, lifting her hips to meet his thrusts – his moans of obvious delight emboldening her. She let her hands run over his arms, to his chest, tearing his pyjama top open before allowing her nails to scrape over the soft hair in the middle of it. He kissed her again and again, panting into her mouth as his movements sped up. She felt a strange feeling spreading through her lower body, making her lower regions tighten as her own breathing sped up. Before the strange feeling was able to bloom into something wonderful though, he suddenly shuddered against her, a low groan escaping his lips. His head fell forward to rest in the nape of the neck as she felt him emptying himself inside her. Though peculiar, it wasn't an unpleasant feeling and she gently ran her hands over his back as he recovered from his high. He carefully pulled out and fell to his side next to her, bringing her with him as he pulled her close to him.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, his hand gently petting her arm.

"What for?" she asked, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder.

"It… you didn't…." She smiled softly, enjoying the fact that he was the flustered one now. She put her hand onto his chest, lovingly toying with the hair there before she answered.

"There's nothing to apologize for, Charles. It was wonderful." She pushed herself up and kissed him gently. She meant what she had said. It may not have been the overwhelming experience she had heard some married women giggling about but it had made her feel closer, more intimately linked to her husband. She could see now why married people delighted so much in consuming the act – it brought a new facet to the relationship, a kind of unification that was hard to experience in any other way. She couldn't wait to find out whether this feeling that had begun to snake through her body towards the end of their love-making had the potential to evolve into something more, into something as breath-taking as what her husband had obviously just experienced.

When she stopped kissing him, he cupped her right cheek with his hand, his eyes filled with unshed tears. "I love you so much."

She had to swallow her own tears before pressing another quick kiss to his lips and putting her head onto his chest. "I love you, too, my wonderful husband."

He pressed her closer to him and together they fell into contented slumber.

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><p>Well, I hope my first attempt at smut wasn't too horrible. Why don't you let me know and leave a review? I'd be very grateful!<p> 


	14. Chapter 14

Thank you all so much for your kind and reassuring reviews for the last chapter. I hope I have managed to reply to all reviews. Thank you especially to the guest reviewers to whom I can't reply directly. You are all amazing!

Thank you always and forever to the incomparable **Kouw**. The kindest and best beta in the whole world!

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><p>Elsie Carson shook her head in quiet amusement as she walked down the stairs, listening to her husband's growling that came from the kitchen. He had obviously returned from his afternoon trip to the village while she had been sorting the laundry into their bedroom armoire. She wondered what could have gotten him into the foul mood he was obviously in.<p>

"What's all this about?" she asked quizzically. She stood in the door to their kitchen and watched his jerky movements as he prepared the kettle. He spun around, surprised by his wife's silent entrance and immediately his stormy face relaxed, although his brow stayed furrowed in worry.

"It's nothing really… and I'm sure I can have it fixed in the morning. It's not as if anything has gone wrong with the bank before, although they do employ the most unsuitable people there nowadays…," he rambled angrily. It only took one raised eyebrow from her to make him halt in the middle of what surely would have become a long, bitter tirade about slipping standards. He inhaled and exhaled deeply. "When I was at the bank, I noticed that there are five pounds missing from our account. Ms. Henderson wasn't able to say where they went and Mr. Porter had already gone home, so I couldn't ask him but I'm sure it will all be resolved tomorrow."

He looked so grave and Elsie stifled the chuckle that threatened to escape. She walked past him and indicated for him to sit down while she continued to prepare their tea. "If that is what has you so worried, I can ease your mind right now. I withdrew the five pounds. There is no bank error involved," she explained.

"Whatever did you need five pounds for?" Charles inquired incredulously and Elsie was glad that they had been married long enough by now for her to know that his affronted tone most likely stemmed from innocent surprise and not from true indignation about her actions.

"Remember, I told you that I'd meet Mrs. Crawley yesterday? She wanted to show me the barracks where they've settled the latest group of Russian refugees."

He gave a short nod, remembering that she had told him _something _two days ago. But then again, she had done it right after they had made love and he had been too blissfully tired to focus properly on what she was saying.

"Charles, you should see the place. It's inhumane! And there are so many children this time. I asked Mrs. Crawley what could be done to help and she said that the most pressing matter was finding some money for the renovation. I decided to help out a little. I'm sorry I forgot to tell you yesterday, but I only saw you briefly before you had to leave for your committee meeting."

"But Elsie!" he sputtered and she halted her movements of preparing their teacups at his reproachful tone. "I told you that we'd need to get the roof fixed soon."

"What does our roof have to do with this?" she asked in confusion.

"Do you have any idea what it will cost to get the necessary repairs?" he asked, baffled by her lack of understanding.

"I'm not sure what it will cost. I'm not even sure why you worry so much about it. We're only the tenants, Charles. Surely it's the family's job to fix anything that concerns the structure of the house."

"I will not have the family pay for a new roof!" Charles protested.

"Why not?" Elsie asked, annoyance creeping into her voice.

"Elsie, the family has been more than generous to us. We pay no rent for this place. I couldn't possible impose on them to pay for the repair of the roof."

Elsie crossed her arms as she fixed her husband with a look of forced patience. "Charles, we pay no rent for this cottage because we've spent over twenty years working hard and loyally for the Crawleys. They haven't shown us any great generosity with the rent. We have earned the right to not pay any!" her explanations had become more heated towards the end, her husband's blind loyalty towards the family striking a nerve she thought had long healed.

"It's still not right to exploit their goodwill," he gave back, his voice hard. "I refuse ask them for a new roof and that is final!"

Her eyebrows rose to her hairline at the tone he was taking with her. "Oh is that so, Mr. Carson?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, then why don't you take your money to fix the roof and I take my money to do what I want with it? Or have you conveniently forgotten that I did contribute my share to our joint funds?" She knew that she didn't have any legal claims on any of her hard earned money. She had given up her rights when she had decided to become his wife.

"Let's not be ridiculous," Charles huffed. "Of course you can spend our money in any way you see fit. Five pounds is no small amount, though. I wish you had talked to me before you spent that much," he said calmly, appealing to her rational side.

She would not be appeased. "Would you have asked me before spending our money on a new roof?" she challenged.

"No, because I didn't think that you'd object to my plans," Charles ground out.

"And I didn't think you'd object to me wanting to help those poor children," she replied, satisfied with what she considered an irrefutable counterargument.

"I don't object to your generosity, no, but five pounds is a lot of money," he tried again. She threw her hands up in frustration before stalking out of the kitchen. He followed her into the living room and groaned theatrically when he saw her putting on her coat and hat. "Elsie, I don't think we've quite reached the point in our discussion where you need to storm out of the cottage."

She spun around at his condescending tone, her jaw clenching. "If you had actually bothered to listen to me yesterday or even the day before that, you'd know that I'm due to meet Mrs. Patmore for tea. You were actually present when we arranged it at Lady Mary's wedding, remember? So don't flatter yourself, Charles Carson. Although, in light of you speaking to me like you would to some silly housemaid, I probably should storm out of the cottage." With that she jutted out her chin and left the cottage in a huff, not sparing her disgruntled husband another glance.

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><p>Charles spent an hour finishing some long overdue correspondence. Another was spent writing down suggestions for the upcoming village dance. When he finally ran out of excuses, he made himself a sparse dinner, admitting to himself that his wife would stay longer at the Abbey than the average hour she usually spent there for tea. He grumbled softly to himself; phrases like 'inappropriate with the family at home' were muttered into his chin as he flipped over the eggs for his omelette.<p>

_And why shouldn't Mrs. Patmore take it a little easy after the hell that had been the wedding week?_ A little voice – that sounded suspiciously like Elsie's – spoke up in his mind. Surely he couldn't begrudge her the few hours spent with one of her closest friends. Not when Daisy was more than capable of executing a simple family dinner. He sighed at his own, old-fashioned principles, at the mess he had made of their earlier discussion and half-heartedly ate his bland dinner.

It was beginning to get dark outside when he started to get nervous. It was ridiculous to worry about Elsie walking home alone after sunset. She would most certainly find his concern ludicrous. Still, she was a woman and times weren't what they used to be. What was more, she was his wife.

He quickly got up and grabbed his coat and bowler. She could ridicule him all she liked (and roll her eyes at him), she might even choose to walk next to him in silence because she was still upset with him, but he would go and make sure she was safe.

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><p>Elsie sighed deeply when she exited the Abbey. It was much later than she had planned on leaving but her meeting with Mrs. Patmore and the other servants had been enjoyable and the perfect distraction. She only wished she could have seen Anna but she was glad about the opportunity for the young woman to enjoy the South of Italy with her husband while both accompanied the newlyweds on their honeymoon (Mr. Bates having graciously been "lent" to the new husband who had found himself without a valet just prior to the marriage).<p>

Elsie shook her head in amusement as she recalled Mrs. Patmore's numerous attempts of gleaning information about her marriage. She hadn't told the other woman about the new intimacy with her husband, hadn't wished to embarrass him and herself by doing so. She also hadn't told her friend about the earlier disagreement with her husband – somehow it had felt wrong to do so, wrong to talk to her friend before she had spoken to him again.

Mrs. Patmore's quest for information had thankfully been ended by Daisy and Mrs. Baxter's arrival in the Servants' hall. The women had spent a delightfully long time chatting about this and that, updating Elsie on the newest house gossip. She had smiled softly when Mrs. Patmore had teased Ms. Baxter ruthlessly about the invitation to dinner the Lady's maid had received from a certain first footman (Charles would have a fit when he heard this). Before long Daisy had begun gushing about Mr. Carson and the adorable ways (her words, not Elsie's) in which he had behaved around her during the wedding. The longer Elsie had spent listening to the cook and her assistant, the more she had wished to return home to resolve the silly disagreement between them. Surely she would be able to make understand see her reasoning.

As she made her way towards their cottage, she tried to come up with a way to bring him around to her side of things. The only thing she knew was that she wouldn't apologize for what she had done. It had been her good right to do it and she wouldn't allow him to make her feel guilty about it.

She pulled her coat tighter around herself as the sun completely disappeared behind the horizon. She increased her steps. She would never admit this to anyone, but she was no great fan of the dark – not when she wasn't safely ensconced in their cottage or at the Abbey. She had been able to make fun of her husband's concern back when Lady Mary and Mr. Blake had stayed out late, because she had always felt safe inside the Abbey. His presence there had made her feel safe and therefore, no, she hadn't feared burglars.

She heard steps approaching and tensed up. She forced herself to take deep and even breaths, reminding herself to not be ridiculous. She squinted her eyes to be able to see better in the diffuse light and breathed a sigh of relief as she recognized the person walking towards her. She would know the imposing figure of her husband anywhere. He didn't stop when he saw her, he simply continued walking – meeting her in the middle.

"You are late," he opened gruffly and instantly bit his tongue.

"I'm sorry; I didn't realize it was getting this late. There was no need for you to come and pick me up. I've walked back from the village in the dark many times in the past. I would have been fine."

He stood a bit straighter as he listened to her words. "That may be but that was before, I'm responsible for you now." She raised her eyebrow again, disbelieving of how he had managed to sound so condescending again.

"Oh, is that so?" she asked cynically. He visibly deflated as he realized his own mistake.

"You are my wife," he said softly, firmly.

"That I am," she relented, sighing quietly.

"Shall we?" he asked and she nodded. Together they began walking back towards their cottage – she didn't take his arm and he didn't offer it. Both were lost in thought, unsure of how to behave now. She startled when he cleared his throat.

"I've thought about our little discussion while you were gone," he started but she didn't allow him to finish, interrupting him hastily.

"So have I. Charles, you didn't see the barracks, you didn't see how these children live; how many of them are orphans. I had to help. It would feel wrong not to when we have so much, when we have been so blessed," she explained quickly, looking at him imploringly. He held up his hand to halt her explanations.

"I understand all that, Elsie. There is nothing I admire more about you than your big heart and your generosity. I would never fault you for either. I simply wish we had spoken before you decided about that amount of money," he justified calmly.

"Would you have consulted me about the money for the roof?" she challenged once more, not able to let it go.

"No, I wouldn't have," he admitted readily. Before she was able to voice her satisfaction about his confession though, he continued. "And that is exactly the problem, my love."

Her eyes were trained on the trail in front of them. He was right, of course. She stopped walking abruptly. He stopped, too, looking down at her expectantly. She surprised him by putting a hand up to his cheek, gently running her thumb over it. He leant into her touch and she smiled at his reaction.

"How right you are, my clever, perceptive husband." A look of doubt crossed his features as he was unsure whether she was teasing him. She pushed herself up and kissed him gently to dispel his doubts. "We have lived alone for so long, made our own decisions, called our own shots. I guess it will take time for us to truly master living and making decisions together."

He put his hands on her waist and drew her a little closer as her hands clasped behind his neck; her fingers playing with the little hairs there.

"I'm sorry for not talking to you about the money first," she said softly.

"And I'm sorry that I wouldn't have consulted you about the roof," he replied just as softly. They shared a sweet little kiss before resuming their walk, his hand protectively covering hers where it rested in the crook of his elbow.

That night Charles Carson made sure that his wife realized that making love was very much comparable to making decisions in a marriage. It was about both parties giving and receiving love and pleasure. With able hands softly touching her in all the right places, with gentle caresses and continuously rumbled professions of love he managed to show her just how enjoyable the intimate connection between husband and wife could be.

Her head rested on his chest as she was coming down from a high she had never expected, had never known could exist – the love and trust for her husband intensifying what would otherwise have been a purely physical reaction. A single tear of gratitude landed on his broad chest and she kissed the place on which it had fallen, whispering her love to him before falling asleep, his arm tightly around her.

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><p>My research showed that 5 pounds in 1924 would be equal to about 300 pounds today (278 pounds to be correct). Just in case anyone was wondering…<p>

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	15. Chapter 15

Well, here is the last chapter of this little story. It may come as a surprise to you but I can assure you that this story has never been planned any differently. Although, that is not true. I thought I would end up with 12 chapters max. Your wonderful responses caused my muse to go into overdrive again and again and I can't thank you enough for that. This epilogue has been sitting on my computer for over two weeks now and I think Charles and Elsie are finally able to make it on their own. I might add scenes in the future but not on a regular basis.

The biggest, most heart-felt thank you ever to my wonderful and lovely beta, Kouw. She has been nothing but supportive, encouraging and incredibly helpful. Thank you for everything, my dear!

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><p>Charles Carson grumbled under his breath, his annoyance on show for everyone who looked at his thunderous face. For the umpteenth time he found himself wondering just how exactly he had ended up in this situation. He should have put a stop to it from the beginning, had tried to briefly… until their fight had reached ridiculous proportions and he had realized that his missing support was what hurt her most. So he had given in, should have done from the start – it was a foregone conclusion that he would even if he now wished he hadn't.<p>

He wriggled on the uncomfortable wooden chair, exhaling harshly through his nose as his attempt at finding a bearable sitting position fell flat.

"Oh cheer up, Mr. Carson!" Mrs. Patmore's voice rang out merrily from his right. He simply snorted and let his eyes roam over the community hall. He couldn't believe how many people had shown up. Did people have nothing better to do on a Saturday night? Apparently not.

In a last attempt at finding a comfortable sitting position, he bumped against the person on his left, which immediately caused him to sit straighter in mortification. While Anna Bates may have been a pleasant person to sit next to on such crowded events in the past, now it was a different case. Charles' desperate attempts at not inconveniencing her in her heavily pregnant state caused him to suffer even more. He fondly remembered the time when women were confined for the last months of their pregnancies. Surely such a big crowd posed risks, even if she was sitting down. He covertly studied Anna's profile and was surprised by the look of serene calmness on the younger woman's face. Her hand rested lovingly on her round stomach as she smiled softly, apparently not bothered in the slightest by the commotion around her. (Charles had the suspicion that she didn't even realize that she was smiling).

Making sure that Anna was well and comfortable wasn't his task anyway, not when her husband sat next to her and growled at everyone who came too close to his precious wife.

Charles sighed deeply again, his behaviour earning him an elbow in his side from Mrs. Patmore. "Stop grumbling, Mr. Carson. You won't fool anyone here. You'd have taken part actively in this whole thing if she had asked you. Don't bother denying it."

Charles didn't acknowledge Beryl Patmore's remark and he certainly didn't try to deny the truth of her statement. As much as the power his wife had over him discomfited him at times, he had to admit that he'd gladly do everything in his ability to see her smile, to make her happy. It was only just, seeing as she had made him so very, so deliriously happy for the past nine months. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined – after those first three rocky months – that retirement would end up like this for them. Working together on the occasional function, spending afternoons reading next to each other, enjoying outings and long, loving nights in front of the fireplace or in their lovely bed.

Still, she might have picked a different hobby. While he had been enthusiastic about her wanting to find an occupation for her time that was entirely her own, he wished she could have spared him this.

The raucous noise of the crowd quieted down when the lights in the room were briefly switched off and on, signalling that the play was about to start. He sat up straighter in his chair (the woman behind him had already complained about such a big man sitting near the front, blocking everyone's view, so why should he try to crouch now). When the lights lowered, he held his breath. He hadn't been allowed to come to any of the rehearsals, his wife claiming that he'd make her nervous.

The curtain was pushed aside and his eyes were immediately drawn to his wife, who was standing in the middle of the three women on the stage. He knew that the first sentence of the play was hers but she was hesitating. His heart broke for her when he saw the naked panic on her face and he wished once again that he had talked her out of this idea, protected her from this.

Her eyes roamed over the rows of people until she found him. He did the only thing he could and smiled at her encouragingly, lovingly.

Her eyes seemed to light up and only then did she begin to speak "_When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?" _

Her voice was strong and steady, her cadence perfect as the other two women joined in and they completed the first scene of the first act.

"She's brilliant, isn't she?" he breathed to no one in particular and didn't even notice the sentimental smiles he earned from both Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Bates.

The play was over quicker than Charles had anticipated. Each scene with his Elsie in it another highlight of the evening for him. When the show was over, the crowd applauded enthusiastically, standing ovations were given for the outstanding local production. When his wife took her bow, he was nearly tempted to whistle like some of the other people had done, but refrained at the last moment.

The crowd didn't really disperse after the show as he had expected it would. Instead people stayed behind to congratulate the actors and share their enthusiasm about the play. The Bateses excused themselves, Anna needing to put her feet up, and Mrs. Patmore was quickly whisked off by some acquaintance. Charles remained standing near the back, his eyes focused on his wife as she laughed with some village people. He smiled softly as he took in her eyes twinkling with excitement, as he listened to her full, melodious laughter. When he had waited for ten minutes, however, he grew impatient and made his way over to her. She immediately excused herself and walked towards him.

"What did you think?" she asked, smiling brightly. For a second he considered teasing her about rolling her r's a little too much at the end of her final scene, but then he thought better of it. He wouldn't want to dampen her mood, not even a little. So he simply smiled at her gently and told her what he thought of her – not just in her role as one of the three witches but in general.

"You are perfect!"

She lowered her eyes, briefly unable to deal with the intensity of his look, his words in such a public setting. "Thank you," she whispered, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. He took a step closer to her, careful that they weren't observed by anyone, before leaning in, his lips near her right ear.

"Would my favourite sorceress who has bewitched me for so long, allow me to take her home to show her a little magic of my own?" he rumbled and was satisfied by the shiver that passed through her. She turned her head the tiniest bit so that her soft breath tickled his ear as she replied. "How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, like soft music to attending ears."

He chuckled softly before standing upright again. He offered his arm to her, which she took instantly. They briefly said their goodbyes to the acquaintances still left at the community hall before leisurely strolling back towards their cottage.

Their lovemaking that night was gentle, quiet. They moved in perfect sync, months of practice having taught them what the other liked, how to elicit the tender moans and breathy I-love-yous that accompanied their climaxes. He pressed her to him as she shuddered, buried his head in the nape of her neck as she vocalized her pleasure into the still of the night. She pulled his head to her face and kissed him deeply when he emptied himself inside of her.

Afterwards they lay together in contented silence. She was pressed against him, his right arm cradling her close. Her hand lay on his chest and his left hand covered it gently. It had become their favourite position in bed – whether it was after they had made love or simply decided to enjoy an evening spent cuddling.

"Can you believe that we'll be married for a year next week?" she asked softly.

"Really? Has it been a year already?" he asked with feigned surprise.

"Daft man," she scolded lovingly as she slapped his chest playfully. He took her hand and pressed a reverent kiss to its back.

"A good year, wouldn't you say?" he rumbled softly and she sighed happily.

"The best!" she agreed and raised her head. He understood her instantly, lowering his head to capture her lips in the gentlest of kisses. He carefully repositioned her so that she was lying underneath him before lavishing her face and neck with more loving affections. As she continued to kiss him, she couldn't help but give a prayer of thanks for their ability to work through their initial struggles, for the last twelve months and the unbelievable love they were allowed to enjoy freely now. She thought of Anna and the promise of an honorary grandchild. She remembered Charles mentioning that Lady Mary wished to stop by later in the week to share some news. She had the strong suspicion that Anna's first child would grow up with a close friend from the upper circles – the friendship of the two children completing the dissolving of class distinctions that years of change had brought to Britain.

"You know it's not very flattering for a man when his wife simply zones out during their lovemaking," her husband's gravelly voice interrupted her thoughts and she couldn't help the little tinkle of laughter that escaped her. She pushed herself up and gave him a quick kiss and he beamed down at her with undisguised adoration.

"Just thinking of the future," she whispered. He tenderly cupped her right cheek. "You're not worried, I hope?"

She shook her head with a gentle smile. "Never when you are with me!"

Her smile then turned wicked as she ran her right hand over his shoulder, down his arm and up his chest again, scraping her nails over his broad bulk. "And now, kiss me, love," she commanded and he growled a little before complying with her wish.

No, there was nothing to worry about as long as her husband kissed her like this, as long as he held her tenderly to him and made her feel like she was the only woman in the world. Elsie Hughes was finally completely happy – she was home.

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><p>Elsie is of course the first of the three witches from Macbeth. In case anyone was wondering. Charles recited a passage from Romeo and Juliet. All credit for Elsie's hobby goes to the wonderful Chelsie Dagger who suggested it many weeks ago. I'm not sure if she was serious about it, but it wouldn't leave me alone.<p>

This is last your chance to tell me what you think of this little story and I'd really love to hear from you for one last time! To all of you from whom I won't hear and to whom I won't be able to send a tearful thank-you-message: Thank you for your support, your readership, your reblogs, your favourites. It meant and means the world to me!


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